Chuck vs His Destiny
by Notorious JMG
Summary: What if Chuck hadn’t been expelled from Stanford? Would he have gone on to a different life? Or was his life as the human Intersect his destiny all along? Seriously AU fic... and there will EVENTUALLY be Charah.
1. Graduation Day

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**Chapter 1: "Graduation Day"**

**CAST (in order of appearance)  
**Bryce Larkin: Matthew Bomer  
Professor Miles Fleming: Scott Alan Smith  
Chuck Bartowski: Zachary Levi  
Jill Tanner: Jordana Brewster  
Ellie Bartowski: Sarah Lancaster  
Morgan Grimes: Joshua Gomez  
Karen Faust/Sarah Walker: Yvonne Strahovski  
Ward P.D. Elcock: himself  
Arthur Graham: Tony Todd

* * *

_So we all know the story of Chuck Bartowski by now. A run-of-the-mill computer genius, he was kicked out of Stanford University based on false accusations of cheating. He spent the next several years moping around Los Angeles, making a big nothing of himself until the day that Bryce Larkin e-mailed the contents of the Intersect to him._

_That's when it all changed… Sarah Walker and John Casey both came into his life as he was suddenly America's number one intelligence asset. And somehow, Chuck managed to fall in love with Agent Walker… who as we all know, would have a difficult time saying she hadn't done the same._

_Much has been made of the life of Chuck Bartowski based on the canon of the thirteen episodes that have aired to date. But what if things had gone just a little bit differently? What if Chuck had gotten a slightly different scholarship to Stanford?_

_What if Chuck hadn't been expelled? Would he have gone on to a different life? Or was his life as the human Intersect his destiny all along?_

* * *

**March 2003  
Stanford University, Palo Alto, CA**

Bryce Larkin sat in Professor Fleming's office, his hands fidgeting. "Professor, we can't let Chuck go through this," he insisted. "It'll break him. It'll turn him into something he's not."

Fleming looked at Bryce and shook his head. "Larkin, if Bartowski was so concerned about getting turned into something he's not, he wouldn't have signed up for the Air Force ROTC program when he was still in high school."

Bryce sighed. "I know, Professor Fleming, but he wants to fly F-22s, not be part of some intelligence cabal."

"Bryce," Fleming said, a steely edge to his voice, "Bartowski is going into Project Omaha. He'll be doing it as a commissioned officer of the United States Air Force."

Bryce set his jaw. "What if Chuck got kicked out?"

Fleming rolled his eyes. "How would Mr. Bartowski get kicked out?"

"If he cheated on his subliminal perception tests," Bryce blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind.

A ghost of an amused smile appeared on Fleming's lips. "How would he do that, exactly? I don't make up the tests till the morning of."

"He doesn't know that, though," Bryce shot back, his voice beginning to sound desperate. "Give me a dummy test key… I'll hide it in his stuff, anonymously tip campus security…"

Professor Fleming looked down at his desk. Larkin was just looking out for his friend's best interests, but Bartowski was going to be needed. Iraq, Afghanistan – they needed somebody with Bartowski's abilities.

"I'm sorry, Bryce," Fleming finally said. "But it's Bartowski. He's the only one we've seen who can handle the data."

Bryce sighed and closed his eyes. This had not gone at all the way he had planned.

* * *

**June 2003**

Chuck Bartowski was nervous. Extraordinarily nervous.

He had good reason to be nervous. He was less than a minute from giving his address as the valedictorian of Stanford University's class of 2003.

Public speaking was something he had never been good at. Give him a computer, he could strip it down and rebuild it so that it would be better, stronger, faster in a matter of minutes. Give him a tech manual for a USAF fighter aircraft and he'd be able to quote it to you chapter, line, and verse a week later.

But put him in a public or social situation – well, if you did that, Chuck Bartowski was screwed. That was why he had been so happy to meet Jill Tanner back the second week of his freshman year.

They had been introduced by his new friend, Bryce Larkin. Jill, it turned out, was into computers, and as Chuck had put it after meeting her for the first time, "She's HOOOOTTTT!"

Three and a half years later, Chuck had gone to spend Easter with his sister, Ellie, down in Los Angeles. While he was there, he had purchased a rather expensive engagement ring.

That ring went directly back to the store when Chuck got back to Stanford and found Jill in bed with Bryce. As a result of that incident, Chuck had cut ties with both Bryce and Jill. Bryce had been kicked out of the fraternity that they were in, and told to get the hell out of the frat house.

Chuck tried to bury the incident by immersing himself in his studies. While the betrayal he felt still gnawed at his soul, the study immersion nonetheless boosted his GPA up and over the top of the class, landing him the valedictory spot in the class rankings.

"And now, please welcome the valedictorian of Stanford University's class of 2003, Charles Irving Bartowski!"

Chuck sighed and rose from his chair on the dais. Wiping his hands on his gown, he approached the lectern. He had no notes – the whole speech was memorized.

He forced a smile onto his face as he looked out at the crowd. "Good morning, my fellow Cardinal," he began, provoking a loud cheer from the assembled Stanford students.

"Students, faculty, and staff of Stanford University," Chuck continued, "it's been a long and arduous journey. Along the way, we've all met people who have changed our lives. I know I have. Some were for the better, some were most definitely not. Some of you are people whose friendship and trust I will treasure for the rest of my life. Some of you are people without whose help I never would've made it here. Some of you are people who stabbed me in the back with a rusty knife."

That comment drew an uncomfortable titter of laughter from the students. "You know who you are," Chuck said, a steel edge to his voice. "But for better or for worse, this whole thing is over, thank Christ."

A louder peal of laughter rang through the students, along with scattered applause. Chuck looked out over the crowd. He saw Bryce sitting halfway back, looking pissed. He saw Jill almost at the back of the crowd – she looked stricken.

He sighed. "I almost didn't come to Stanford," he said, forcing himself to continue the speech he had memorized the night before. "My sister's a UCLA grad, and she's doing medical school there now, and she wanted me to go there."

"It was my best friend who convinced me that this was my best choice, though," Chuck explained. "And he was the least likely person – he'd always struggled with school, and I know he was hoping I'd stay in town."

He looked out beyond the students – and there was Morgan, sitting with Ellie. She had been reluctant to drive up to Palo Alto alone with him, but he had promised to behave. Morgan caught Chuck looking at them, and gave him a thumbs up.

Chuck smiled. "In the end, though, Stanford changed my life. Many good ways, and a few bad, but all in all, I think I'm a better person for it. It's been a long road, but we've reached our destination. Thank you."

The rest of the ceremony passed by in a blur. Chuck crossed the stage, took his diploma, flipped the tassel, and it was over. He was now a college graduate, his degree in computer engineering complete. He had received his commission from the Air Force a week before, and was now, in reality, 2nd Lieutenant Charles Bartowski.

But he had two weeks until he was to report to Randolph Air Force Base near San Antonio for flight training. He had no idea what he was going to do during those two weeks – he imagined he'd be causing a fair amount of trouble with Morgan, although his old friend's suggestion that they go to the Buy More where they had both worked during high school and terrorize their old supervisor, Harry Tang, lacked appeal. He was especially puzzled by that suggestion based on the fact that Morgan still worked at the Buy More, although he was a quality control specialist who reported directly to the store manager, Big Mike Tucker.

Either way, right at the moment, his sister and Morgan were walking toward him with big smiles on their faces. They were trailed by about fifteen feet by Bryce Larkin.

"I am so proud of you!" Ellie Bartowski exclaimed as she embraced her little brother. "I just wish Dad could've been here to see this!"

"Yeah," Chuck agreed. "And I wish Mom…"

The Bartowski siblings exchanged a look. Seven years after being abandoned by their mother, it was still a sore spot in both their lives.

And into the awkward silence stepped Morgan. "Well, congrats buddy!" he said with a smile. "So, you get that U-Haul picked up yet?"

Chuck shook his head. "That will be the first thing that you and I do tomorrow morning," he replied. While Ellie stayed in a hotel room that night, Morgan would be staying at Chuck's apartment, and the two of them would be driving down to Los Angeles the following day in a U-Haul holding all of Chuck's earthly possessions. Chuck had already sold his old Chevy Corsica – "I am not keeping that thing," he had declared.

"Chuck."

The voice of Bryce Larkin broke Chuck from his reverie. "Uh, can I talk to you?"

Chuck sighed. "Yeah." He motioned with his head that they should step away from Ellie and Morgan. He turned, and Bryce followed him.

He turned back to Bryce. "What do you want?"

Bryce shook his head. "I… I need you to let it go, Chuck. I can't go the rest of my life feeling like I stabbed you in the back with a rusty knife."

Chuck smiled humorlessly at the echo of his own words. "And maybe you wouldn't if you hadn't, Bryce. But there is one thing you can do for me."

Bryce looked at Chuck, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "What's that?"

Chuck's smile got a little bigger. He placed his left hand on Bryce's shoulder, and then lifted his right hand to eye level. Ever so slowly, he extended his middle finger. "Sit on it and rotate."

* * *

**That same time  
Headquarters of the Canadian Security Intelligence Services  
Ottawa, Ontario, Canada**

Karen Faust looked like a woman on a mission – although, right at that moment, she really wasn't.

She was just pissed.

Faust had been born in Auckland, New Zealand, on Christmas Day of 1980. Her family had moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, four months later. She had grown up there, and gone to the University of Washington in Seattle – just down the road from home, but literally in another country.

She had attracted the attention of the CSIS while still in high school. They told her that if she was interested, they'd have a position for her four years later, when she graduated from college.

Karen took that as a challenge, and graduated in three years. The CSIS had been duly impressed, and took her onboard as a trainee almost immediately after graduation in May of 2002.

She had scorched through the CSIS' training program – itself an amalgamation of Britain's MI5 and SIS programs – in record time, and had been a credentialed agent by her twenty-second birthday. Since that time, she had been on one assignment – "cultural attaché" at Canada's embassy in Tehran. Her job there was simple – spy on Iran for Canada, and by extension, the United States of America.

But after five months on that assignment, with no warning, she had been recalled, ordered to report to headquarters as soon as possible. She griped and fumed, but the deputy chief of mission – himself a CSIS agent – reluctantly told her that she didn't really have a choice.

So, she figured if she was going to get screwed, she was going to make a fuss. That's why she marched into the Director's office, ready for war.

Before Director Ward Elcock could get one word out, Karen practically exploded. "Why in the BLOODY hell did you pull me out of Tehran? I have an entire NETWORK set up there that's providing more intelligence on the ayatollahs than anybody has had in YEARS!"

"And that's the point," a deep voice rumbled. Karen looked to Director Elcock's right, and saw an unfamiliar-looking tall black man.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

Director Elcock sighed. "Agent Faust, this is Arthur Graham. He is the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency –"

And with those words, Karen felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs. The CIA?!

"– and he has been most impressed with your work."

Karen's eyes widened. The CIA was here about HER? Oh sweet Jesus!

"Agent Faust," Director Graham said, "we at the CIA think it would be fantastic if you would be willing to come work for us. Director Elcock has reluctantly agreed that you would be able to do far more with the CIA than you ever will with the CSIS."

Karen's jaw dropped. "Oh my God," she whispered. "I'm being recruited by the CIA?!"

Director Elcock smiled weakly. "Karen, this is one hell of an opportunity. I mean, it'll be a huge blow to the CSIS if we lose you, but it'll be better for the intelligence community as a whole."

"Well, God, of course!" Karen blurted. "Yes, I'll do it!"

Director Graham smiled faintly at Karen's lack of composure. "Very well," he rumbled. "Now, there are certain… problems… with having a Canadian intelligence officer work directly for the CIA, so… we've created a cover for you."

He picked up a manila folder from Director Elcock's desk and handed it to her. "This folder contains everything you need to know about the new you," he said. "Read over it, and then let me know if you have any questions."

Karen opened the folder. The childhood was similar enough to her own, although it showed her as having grown up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, rather than in Vancouver, and she had apparently gone to the University of Arizona for college. "Looks simple enough," she said quietly, nodding her approval. She looked back up at Graham and Elcock. "I'm in."

Graham smiled and approached Karen. She stood as he reached her and stuck out his hand. "Excellent," he said as she took his hand and shook it. "Welcome to the CIA… Agent Sarah Walker."

* * *

_**Author's Note**__: Leland Stanford, Jr. College, a.k.a. Stanford University, does not currently have an accredited ROTC program. However, the school sees approximately 20-30 ROTC students annually, all of whom must commute to UC-Berkeley, San Jose State University, or Santa Clara University to fulfill their ROTC obligation._

_Stanford's ROTC program was stripped of its academic accreditation in 1969 amid a fervor of anti-war protests that swept the Bay Area, in spite of a student referendum vote that favored ROTC. The faculty senate maintains to this day that the decision was made due to academic unsuitability rather than anti-war sentiment._

_For the purposes of this story, we can assume that Chuck was offered an Air Force ROTC scholarship that would allow him to go to Stanford, but would require him to make the twenty-mile commute to Santa Clara University on a thrice-weekly basis._


	2. Destination Omaha

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**Chapter 2: "Destination: Omaha"**

**CAST (in order of appearance)  
**Chuck Bartowski: Zachary Levi  
Ellie Bartowski: Sarah Lancaster  
USAF Staff Sergeant: Romany Malco  
Captain John Casey: Adam Baldwin  
Dr. Thomas Novak: Jonathan Frakes  
USAF Pilot: Harry Connick, Jr.  
Arthur Graham: Tony Todd  
Sarah Walker: Yvonne Strahovski

* * *

**June 2003**

Two weeks had gone by in a blur – two weeks in Los Angeles. Long enough to briefly reconnect with old friends from Beverly Hills High, to spend time raising hell with Morgan… to listen to his sister gripe about how she "hadn't found the right man yet" and how she could "constantly hear her biological clock ticking."

Chuck didn't see what Ellie's deal was. She was only twenty-five, for God's sake. Chuck figured he'd be lucky to find somebody by the time he was her age, so he wasn't too concerned about his sister.

But now, she was driving him out to Riverside – he had orders to report to March Air Reserve Base, where he would be loaded onto a KC-135 tanker headed to Randolph Air Force Base, outside of San Antonio. Once there, Chuck would spend the next three months training on flight operations, starting with T-1s and moving up to T-38s.

After he had finished initial flight training, Chuck would go to Luke Air Force Base, near Phoenix, to train on flying F-16s. Then, he would either 1) be assigned to an F-16 wing, or 2) be sent to Nellis Air Force Base outside of Las Vegas to train on F-22s.

He was rather hoping for the latter.

When Chuck arrived at March ARB, he said his good-byes to Ellie, and headed into the small passenger terminal. Once inside, he made a beeline for the desk underneath the sign that said, "TRAVEL ORDERS."

"Name?" asked the bored-looking staff sergeant sitting behind the desk.

"2nd Lieutenant Bartowski, Charles I.," Chuck replied.

The staff sergeant looked closely at his monitor and scrolled through a list. He found Chuck's name and double-clicked on it, bringing up his orders. Another click, and Chuck heard a laser printer warming up.

After a moment, the staff sergeant pulled two sheets of paper from under his desk. "The first page is your travel order, sir," he explained. "The second page is acknowledgment that you have received and understood your orders. I need you to look over the first page, then sign the second."

"Not a problem," Chuck replied. He looked to the top of the first page. "Department of the Air Force… yeah, yeah… ordered to report to…"

He froze. There was a three letter code in the "ordered to report" section. As far as Chuck knew, that code should've been RND – the IATA designation for Randolph Air Force Base. But instead, it said OFF –

"Offutt Air Force Base?" Chuck asked in confusion. Offutt was outside of Omaha, Nebraska – nine hundred miles away from where he thought he was going. "I thought I was supposed to be going to Randolph."

The staff sergeant gave Chuck a weird look. It was clear he didn't get questions very often, but nonetheless, he went back into Chuck's orders. "No, sir, according to the computer, you're supposed to be going to Offutt. In fact, the orders state that you are to wait at this desk until a Captain… uh, Captain Casey comes to get you."

Chuck squinted at the staff sergeant. "Alright," he said, even more confused. He placed the second page on the desk, signed it, and handed it to the staff sergeant. Then he sat down in a chair next to the desk.

Chuck sat there for nearly two hours. Finally, he saw a man in Class A's and captain's bars coming his way. Chuck's eyes widened at the array of ribbons on his chest, including –

"Jesus," Chuck whispered. "This guy's got a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star?!" He jumped to his feet and started to salute the superior officer – and then realized that he was indoors, and didn't have a cover on.

"You Bartowski?" the captain asked – _Casey_, his nametag read, exactly the person Chuck was supposed to be waiting for.

"Yes, sir!" Chuck replied.

"Captain John Casey," he got back. "Intelligence Division, 55th Wing, Air Combat Command."

_Intelligence Division?!_ "2nd Lieutenant Charles Bartowski," Chuck said. "And, if I may ask, sir, I expected to be sent to Randolph for flight training… do you happen to know why I'm being sent to Offutt?"

"You may ask," Captain Casey replied, "and I do know, but I am not at liberty to brief you on your assignment until we're onboard the plane."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Uh, sir?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on Casey's face. "Seriously, Lieutenant. Come with me."

* * *

_From: Dr. Thomas Novak, Psychiatric Evaluation Unit_

_To: Arthur Graham, Director, CIA_

_Re: Officer Bryce Larkin_

_Date: 23 June 2003_

_I have had the chance to thoroughly observe and evaluate Officer Larkin since he reported to Langley two weeks ago. He is at once both a brilliant agent with great potential for undercover operations and a neurotic wreck on the brink of a psychotic breakdown._

_According to a report filed by his former handler, Stanford Professor Miles Fleming, Officer Larkin attempted to have a friend of his – one 2__nd__ Lieutenant Charles Bartowski, USAF – removed from Stanford University and consequently from the recruitment process from Project Omaha approximately three and a half months ago. Officer Larkin was apparently concerned for Lieutenant Bartowski's well-being, both physical and mental, and did not believe that he would be able to cope with the demands of Project Omaha._

_Professor Fleming refused Officer Larkin's demands. Since that time, Officer Larkin's mental condition has deteriorated. He reportedly slept with Lieutenant Bartowski's girlfriend approximately three weeks after the incident with Professor Fleming, causing Bartowski to break all ties with Larkin. Larkin says that he attempted to apologize to Bartowski at their Stanford's June commencement exercises, and was rebuffed by his former friend._

_Bryce Larkin shows a great deal of potential. However, I am highly concerned that he could have a psychotic break during a mission, and as such, I must make the following recommendations:_

_Officer Larkin should be assigned only to embassy missions until his mental condition improves. As long as he is on such assignments, if he should have a breakdown while on assignment, it can be easily handled._

_In spite of your suggestion, I believe that at the present time, Officer Larkin should under no circumstances be partnered with Agent Sarah Walker. It is my professional assessment that her personality type clashing with his on a regular basis will cause more trouble than it is worth and result in a loss of productivity and possible loss of one or more officers._

_I will continue to monitor Officer Larkin as he continues his training. I will let you know immediately if I observe improvement or deterioration of his condition._

_Respectfully submitted,_

_Thomas Novak, DO, Ph.D_

* * *

Chuck Bartowski followed John Casey out of the terminal and onto the tarmac. Once outside, he pulled on the ballcap-shaped cover that went with the USAF battle-dress uniform, and slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses.

"There's our ride!" Casey called to him over the roar of engines on the flight line, as he pointed to a Lockheed Jetstar painted in –

In the livery of the 89th Airlift Wing? "Isn't that one of the President's planes?" Chuck yelled.

John Casey grinned. "Used to be, but it's been assigned to the 55th Wing's Intelligence Division since 1994! Great tool for 'diplomacy', I'll tell you that!"

Chuck shook his head as he followed Captain Casey up the steps into the old VC-140. "Nice," he cracked, taking in the décor that was contemporary to the Johnson administration.

"Hey, don't knock it," Casey shot back. "How often do you think a 2LT gets his own private jet to pick him up and fly him to his initial assignment?"

"Probably not often," Chuck admitted.

"Try never," Casey replied. "And now that we're onboard, I can brief you on what's going on."

"You can brief him as soon as we take off, Captain," grumbled a rather dour-looking man wearing a flight suit and the insignia of a major. "We need to get going."

"Yes, sir," Casey replied. "Bartowski, take a seat."

The major pulled his head back into the cockpit and closed the door. Chuck stowed his gear in the compartment by the galley, and took a seat on the left-hand side of the plane. Casey sat down facing him, a faux-wood table between them.

"I'm not even gonna try to tell you what's going on until after we take off," Casey explained. "You ever heard a Jetstar take off?"

"Can't say that I have, sir," Chuck replied.

Casey grimaced. "It's an experience."

The aircraft was relatively quiet as it taxied to the runway, but then the four Garrett TFE-731 turbofans spooled up. "JESUS CHRIST!" Chuck shouted, trying to make himself heard over the howl.

Casey smiled. "I TOLD YOU!"

And then the pilot released the brakes. The Jetstar practically leapt down the runway, shooting forward like a bullet from a gun. A moment later, the thirty year-old Lockheed business jet clawed airborne, reaching for altitude.

Almost immediately, the noise of the engines was cut in half. Taking off over Riverside, the pilot had to observe certain noise abatement procedures – something Chuck hated. He felt that it was unnatural for a plane to cut power and pitch upward, just so that people on the ground wouldn't be bothered. In his opinion, if they were stupid enough to buy a house under the flight path of an airport or an air force base, they deserved the noise.

When the plane reached cruising altitude, Captain Casey reached under his seat and pulled out a briefcase. He opened the briefcase and removed a manila file folder. Opening it, he placed a sheet of paper on the table.

Chuck looked at the paper in confusion. "That – that's my transcript from Stanford!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, indeed, it is," Casey replied. "4.0 GPA, graduated _summa cum laude_, scored what we call a 'possible' in every class taught by Professor Miles Fleming."

"A 'possible'?" Chuck asked.

"Means you got every point possible," Casey said. "It's a sharp-shooting term."

"I see," Chuck replied, though he really didn't.

Casey looked across the table at him. "Here's the thing. Miles Fleming is an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency. Code name Glass Castle."

Chuck's eyes widened. "What?"

"Yep," Casey said. "He is responsible for recruiting exceptional Stanford students to the CIA. He identified you after you aced his class on subliminal perception and retention, and reported you to the CIA. The CIA saw your potential for a Department of Defense project called 'Project Omaha', and since you were already committed to the Air Force, decided that you would be an ideal candidate for it."

"'Project Omaha'?" Chuck asked. "What exactly does this entail?"

"It's a project that uses subliminal image perception and retention in addition to pattern recognition abilities. You, obviously, can do all that with ease. What we're doing is studying human abilities in an attempt to create a computer database that will be able to do the same thing."

Chuck snorted. "No computer will ever be able to match the ability of the human brain."

Casey smiled. "You would be surprised at what the government labs have floating around."

* * *

Director Graham looked across his desk at Sarah Walker. "Well, here's the thing," he said, his voice sounding a little strained. "The whole plan of action I had for you – pairing you with this hotshot field agent from Stanford, getting you into a deep-cover partner situation – has been blown off the table by the shrinks. They think he's on the verge of a breakdown, and they're afraid, based on your record, that you might beat the hell out of him or worse if he annoys you too much."

Sarah cocked her head. "My record?"

Graham raised an eyebrow. "Agent Walker, according to your CSIS dossier, you've eliminated half a dozen Iranian nationals who were identified as threats to the west in the last six months. I mean, I'm sure you're a very nice person in real life, but in professional life, it's pretty clear that you're a killer."

Sarah looked at the floor. "Yes, sir, that's true," she replied quietly. "But it's what I'm good at."

"I'm aware," Graham said. "But that's not the only thing you're good at, as far as I can see. From what I've read, you have an extraordinary skill for creating on-the-spot intelligence analyses and utilizing them to improvise missions. In fact, Director Elcock made it quite clear that most of your missions in the last six months were created by you, executed by you."

Sarah shrugged. "It's a useful skill, sir. I like being able to do my job well."

"So I can tell. Here's the thing – if we're not going to put you in a deep cover team, then I've got an assignment waiting for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Graham raised a hand. "Before I get into it, I want you to understand that it's gonna be three months until this mission starts, and you're going to be stuck here at HQ doing analysis until then."

Sarah sighed. "Well… tell me about it, and I'll decide."

Graham nodded. "There's a Department of Defense project known as Project Omaha. We are co-developing a computer database with the National Security Agency, mostly in response to President Bush's post-9/11 edict for the intelligence agencies to play nicely together. This database is intended to contain every piece of intelligence that we have, and see if it can identify patterns."

He handed Sarah a manila folder. "We're studying human abilities to perceive, retain, and recognize subliminal imagery and using our findings to create the software to run this database. That folder contains everything you need to know about our most promising subject – an Air Force lieutenant by the name of Charles Bartowski."

Sarah opened the folder, and began to look at the file as Graham continued speaking. "He's going to spend the next three months undergoing a battery of tests with medical and psychiatric personnel at Offutt Air Force Base. In late September, you will report to Offutt and join the team. Your Air Force liaison is Captain John Casey; however, most of the time, you will be working directly with Lieutenant Bartowski."

Sarah looked at the picture of Lieutenant Bartowski. He had short, slightly curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a brilliant smile that set something off inside of Sarah. She had never even met this guy, and she already liked him a little bit just because of his smile.

"Now, we know that realistically, we are still going to be in Iraq this time next year," Graham said. "'Mission Accomplished' or no, we're not done over there. So, ideally, in mid-January, you, Lieutenant Bartowski, and the rest of the Project Omaha team will deploy to Baghdad to assist with operations over there."

Sarah nodded. "Understood."

"Excellent," Graham replied. "Three months, Agent Walker. Learn Lieutenant Bartowski. Know him inside and out. This mission could be a career-maker for you."


	3. Welcome to the Project

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**Chapter 3: "Welcome to the Project"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Lt. Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Capt. John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Capt. Devin Woodcomb, MD – Ryan McPartlin  
Dr. Thomas Novak – Jonathan Frakes  
Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer  
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Lt. Col. Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Col. Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Trish Reitan – Olivia Wilde  
Laura Meyers – Megan Fox

* * *

The Lockheed JetStar touched down at Offutt Air Force Base just before 6:00 P.M. Chuck looked around – and found Nebraska to be, well, boring at first sight.

"Lots of cows and corn," John Casey muttered as he noticed Chuck looking out the window. "Not much else."

"Uh-huh," Chuck mumbled in response. As he watched, a white Dodge Stratus came rolling down the taxiway toward the slowing aircraft. The Stratus pulled to a stop, and a young blond guy in a flight suit popped out of the driver's door. An older looking guy with graying brown hair and a beard stood up out of the shotgun door. Both approached the plane.

Casey opened the hatch as an Air Force tech drove a stairway up to the door. He descended the ladder, followed by Chuck.

"Captain Casey?" the younger guy asked.

"That's me," Casey replied. "This is Bartowski."

"Pleasure to meet you," he replied. "Name's Devin Woodcomb. I'm the head doctor for Project Omaha." Devin smiled. "They say I'm supposed to refer to myself as Captain Woodcomb, but I'm only a captain because I have an MD."

Chuck laughed. "So what should I call you, then?"

"You'll call him Captain or Doctor Woodcomb," interjected the older man, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. "There does need to be a certain sense of protocol and decorum on this project."

Woodcomb rolled his eyes. "Captain Casey, Lieutenant Bartowski," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "this is Doctor Thomas Novak. He's from the CIA, and he's the lead psychiatrist on this project."

Chuck's expression suddenly grew concerned. He looked from Doctor Woodcomb to Captain Casey to Doctor Novak and back to Casey. "Psychiatrist?" he asked. "Uh, Captain, what the hell have you gotten me into?"

Casey sighed. "Bartowski, I told you. This project involves subliminal image perception and retention. We have to have a psychiatrist on hand to make sure you don't go cuckoo for coco puffs halfway through."

Doctor Woodcomb snorted at Casey's odd phrase. "You have something to say, Captain Woodcomb?" Casey growled.

"Nope," Woodcomb replied. "Everything's awesome."

Doctor Novak rolled his eyes. "Awesome, my ass," he muttered underneath his breath. "Lieutenant Bartowski, we want to get you into the program first thing tomorrow morning. That'll give you tonight to get settled on the base, get familiar with your surroundings. I need to brief Captain Casey on the particulars of the program tonight, so Doctor Woodcomb will be your tour guide."

Novak sighed and looked from Chuck to Woodcomb. "Gentlemen, do try to not get into too much trouble." He looked to Casey. "Captain Casey, if you'd come with me?"

"Yes, sir," Casey replied, following Novak to the car. "Bartowski."

"Captain Casey," Chuck replied, flipping a quick salute.

Novak and Casey got in the car, and as it was pulling away, Chuck remarked, "So, you realize they just took off with the car, right?"

Woodcomb groaned. "Aw, not awesome."

* * *

Sarah Walker sighed and rubbed her eyes. She had spent all afternoon and a better part of the evening studying the dossier on 2nd Lt. Charles Irving Bartowski, USAF. The studying of the dossier wasn't the problem. She picked up on everything quickly.

She could now practically recite Bartowski's life. Born in New Britain, Connecticut, September 24th, 1980. Father killed in a car accident on the Jersey Turnpike, March 7th, 1986. Moved to Los Angeles with mother and sister Eleanor, September 1986.

Mother abandoned the Bartowski siblings shortly after Eleanor's 18th birthday in January of 1996. Bartowski went to Beverly Hills High School, class of 1999, salutatorian. Attended Stanford University on a USAF ROTC scholarship, class of 2003, valedictorian.

Best friend was Morgan Grimes; former friends included Bryce Larkin, his old roommate, and Jill Tanner, his ex-girlfriend. It seemed that Bartowski had caught Larkin and Tanner sleeping with each other, and that hadn't gone over well with him.

Identified as a prospect for Project Omaha in September of 2002, barely a year after the project's conception. Scheduled to arrive at Offutt Air Force Base… less than twenty minutes ago.

Sarah couldn't take sitting in a cubicle any more. She closed the dossier and took it with her, heading toward the elevator to take her to the ground floor and the employee cafeteria.

At 9:30 at night, the CIA employee cafeteria was practically deserted, save for a few analysts and the food service employees. Sarah didn't want much – just a particularly strong cup of coffee, which she found quickly.

As she was paying the cashier, she heard a voice behind her say, "Good to see I'm not the only one Graham has chained to their cubicle tonight."

Sarah got her change and turned around. The source of the voice turned out to be a reasonably attractive guy. He had a rather unruly mop of brown hair on top of his head and piercing blue eyes.

"I've seen you in the bullpen," Sarah said, giving him an appraising look. "My name's Walker. Sarah Walker."

He smiled. "Pleasure to meet you, Sarah Walker. I'm Bryce Larkin."

Sarah's eyes widened, and she almost dropped her coffee. "Bryce… Larkin?!"

Bryce raised an eyebrow. "Uh… yes?"

"Shit," Sarah whispered. "Did you go to Stanford?"

"Yes, I did," Bryce replied slowly. "And?"

Sarah grimaced. "You knew Chuck Bartowski."

"Oh, Christ," Bryce groaned. "What did he say about me?"

Sarah shrugged. "No, no, I don't know Chuck Bartowski."

Bryce stared at her, and then cocked his head to the side. "Oh, even better," he said after a moment. "You're his handler, aren't you?"

"Well…" Sarah paused. "Um… I really can't say."

Bryce shook his head and sighed. "Just… please, don't ruin the guy. He's a good guy, he deserves better than what the CIA doles out to people."

Sarah couldn't resist. "Maybe you should've thought of that before you slept with his girlfriend."

Bryce's expression darkened, and he angrily crossed his arms across his chest. "You know what, FUCK YOU," he snapped. "You don't even KNOW me. Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway?"

"Wai… no, no… I…"

Sarah found that she was speaking to Bryce Larkin's back as he stomped away, infuriated. "God dammit," she muttered. Not exactly a good start.

* * *

Chuck and Captain Woodcomb had finally gotten to the visiting officer's quarters and gotten Chuck squared away. Then they retrieved Captain Woodcomb's government car, and headed north, toward Omaha.

"Please, don't call me Doctor Woodcomb, or Captain Woodcomb," he insisted as they were driving. "Feel free to call me Devin... at least, when we're not around Novak," he cautioned.

"Yeah, Novak really doesn't seem like a very pleasant individual," Chuck remarked.

"He just doesn't like me too much," Devin replied. "Day I met him I told him he looked like Commander Riker."

Chuck laughed. "From _The Next Generation_?" He thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess he kind of does." He laughed again. "As long as you didn't ask him how Counselor Troi was in the sack…"

Devin shrugged and just gave Chuck a look. "Oh my God, you didn't!" Chuck exclaimed.

"What can I say," Devin said. "The first time I met him was at the base CO's Christmas party last year."

Chuck just shook his head. "Wow. That, um, that's…"

"Alcohol at its finest!" Devin pronounced. "And if you're lucky, you'll get to see alcohol at its finest working on Omaha's finest tonight!"

"Oh, dear God," Chuck groaned. "My first night on base, and you're taking me into town to get drunk and pick up girls?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Devin replied. "Not much else to do in northwestern Nebraska. And it's not like there's anywhere better than Omaha to go – the next big city is Des Moines."

"God help us," Chuck muttered.

* * *

Doctor Novak and Captain Casey entered an unremarkable low brown building. Casey pulled off his cover as they entered and tucked it under his arm.

"This is the project center for Project Omaha," Novak explained as they walked through the dimly lit corridors. "I know, it doesn't look like much, but we've got some of the most advanced computer equipment in the world here."

Casey just smiled. It was all he could do to not tell Novak that he'd probably spent more time in this particular building than the CIA shrink had, but he kept it to himself.

They reached a door that was being guarded by a military policeman. "Identification, please," he said in a monotone. Casey retrieved his military ID, while Novak held up his name badge.

The MP looked from one to the other, and then nodded his head. Wordlessly, he opened the door, letting the two men inside.

Two people sat inside at a conference table – a man with thinning dark hair, and a woman with red hair. "Good evening, Doctor Novak," the man said, standing. "And you must be Captain John Casey."

"Yes, sir," Casey replied.

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Rick Valenti," Valenti said, smiling and extending his hand. "I'm the new Director for Project Omaha. This is Colonel Louisa Beckman – she's our liaison to the National Security Agency."

Beckman did not smile. "Captain Casey," she said briefly. "Thomas."

"Louisa," Doctor Novak practically growled.

"Ma'am," Casey said politely.

"So, this Bartowski fellow," Valenti said, indicating that Casey and Novak should sit. "You spent the last several hours on a plane with him. What's he like?"

Casey shrugged. "Seems to be a fairly knowledgeable fellow," he replied. "Not a great conversationalist, but I'd definitely say the right guy for the project."

Beckman narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. "And why is that, Captain Casey?"

Casey shrugged. "You just watch the guy – he follows everything, watches everything, observes everything. I don't know if it's even conscious on his part, but I don't think there's anything that happens in front of him that he doesn't pick up on."

Beckman nodded. "And you, Thomas?"

Doctor Novak shrugged. "I've only had the chance to study Bartowski's dossier, but from what I can tell, from what Miles Fleming told us, he's a fairly stable individual." He sighed. "I'm a little concerned about parts of his past – his father's death, his mother's abandonment, his girlfriend sleeping with his best friend – but it seems almost as though he accepts them as part of life and moves on."

Colonel Beckman leaned back. "But that worries you."

Novak shook his head. "I didn't say that."

"Thomas, we've known each other for nearly twenty years," Beckman replied. "So cut the crap and tell me why that worries you."

Novak looked toward the ceiling. "Look. Bartowski seems well-adjusted. Maybe almost TOO well-adjusted. I'm afraid that one thing, one setback, might totally screw him. He has the type of personality where if one thing goes majorly wrong in his life, I'm afraid he'd spend five years sitting around doing nothing."

"So we make sure nothing goes wrong," Casey interjected. "I apologize for interrupting, but I think you're being overly pessimistic here, Doctor."

Beckman nodded. "I agree with Captain Casey," she said. "Keep a close eye on Lieutenant Bartowski, Thomas. Make sure everything goes according to plan."

Novak nodded. "Will do."

* * *

"And that was why I DIDN'T get into UCLA medical school," Devin said.

Chuck laughed. The idea of dressing up as a gigantic penis for Halloween, let alone one that had been rigged to shoot a viscous white liquid out the tip… he never would've done something like that. "Seems like University of Arizona treated you well, though," he replied.

Devin shrugged. "I can't complain. I don't know what the Beach Boys were on about – girls in Tucson look just as good as girls in Los Angeles."

Chuck cocked his head to the side. "Are you sure you majored in pre-med at UCLA, Devin? Or was it women's studies?"

Devin threw his head back and roared with laughter. "You are one funny sumbitch, Chuck Bartowski!"

"And you are drunk as hell," Chuck shot back with a laugh of his own. "I'm thinking we might be wanting to head back to the base?"

"Oh, hell no," Devin replied. "Besides…" He pointed behind Chuck.

Chuck turned around to see two women headed their way, beers in hand. Two VERY attractive women.

"Oh," he said, turning back around toward Devin. "I see."

The two women came up to the table. "I'm sorry," said the blond one, "but we couldn't help notice that you two were in uniform."

"We LOVE men in uniform," the brunette one added.

Chuck was, indeed, still in his BDU, and Devin was in his flight suit. "I would think there would be a lot of men in uniform around here," Chuck said, a puzzled look on his face.

The blond smiled. "That's why we love Omaha," she said. She set the two beers she was carrying down on the table and extended her hand. "My name's Trish. Trish Reitan. This is my roommate, Laura Meyers."

"Pleasure to meet you," Chuck replied, standing. "Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski. This is Captain Devin Woodcomb, MD."

"Oooh," Laura said. "A man in uniform AND a doctor."

Chuck rolled his eyes – but sat back down as the two women sat.

Maybe Nebraska wasn't THAT bad after all.


	4. The Turning Point

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**Chapter 4: "The Turning Point"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Lt. Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Trish Reitan – Olivia Wilde  
Capt. John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Lt. Col. Marcus Wainwright – Richard Belzer  
Col. Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Director Arthur Graham – Tony Todd  
Capt. Devin Woodcomb, MD – Ryan McPartlin  
Dr. Thomas Novak – Jonathan Frakes  
Lt. Col. Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster

* * *

Chuck Bartowski slowly came to wakefulness. He smiled slightly as he looked at the ceiling – his insistence on moderation the night before meant that he was waking up hangover free. No headache, no nausea – and he KNEW hangovers. Spending four years in a frat at Stanford had seen to that.

His smile got a little bigger as he cast his gaze downward and saw the mop of dirty blond hair resting on his chest. Beneath that hair was Trish Reitan, a recent graduate of Creighton University. She was about five months younger than Chuck, and was sticking around Omaha to go to med school at the University of Nebraska – Omaha.

Chuck had ascertained all of that at the bar and during the drive back to the base the night before. He didn't know whether Devin had gotten to know Trish's roommate – Laura Meyers – quite as well, because those two had spent the majority of the drive back to the base in the backseat of the Stratus, well…

Chuck shook his head. He was quite certain that the Air Force didn't need to know about THAT.

He was about to start trying to move when somebody began pounding on the door. "Oh, shit," Chuck whispered.

The pounding awakened Trish. "What's going on?" she asked sleepily, lifting her head and looking at Chuck.

"I have no idea," he replied, sliding out of the bed. Grabbing a pair of boxers, he pulled them on and headed to the door. He cracked it open –

And there stood Captain John Casey. "Rise and shine, Bartowski," Casey growled.

"The hell, sir?" Chuck asked, confused. "I'm not supposed to even report for another hour and a half."

"NSA liaison wants to speak with you beforehand," Casey replied. "Now move your ass…"

He stopped and sniffed. "Why do I smell perfume?"

Chuck's eyes widened. "Uh… perfume, sir?"

Casey narrowed his eyes. "You have a woman in there, Bartowski?"

Chuck didn't say anything. "Lieutenant Bartowski," Casey growled, "you do realize that that is a BAD, BAD idea, correct?!"

"Uh, sir?"

Casey shook his head in exasperation. "Get her the hell out of here, Bartowski. Meet me in the VOQ lobby in half an hour."

"Yes, sir."

As Chuck shut the door, he heard Casey mutter something along the lines of, "Stupid ass greenhorn kid," as he walked away down the hallway. He turned around –

To find Trish already half-dressed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really didn't mean to get you into trouble…"

"Don't worry about it," Chuck replied with a smile. "I'm sort of a big deal as far as the Air Force is concerned."

Trish raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really," she shot back. Then she smiled as well. "Well, Mister Big Deal… maybe next time we should go to my place."

"Next time?" Chuck asked, his smile getting bigger. "My, my, I haven't even called you yet!"

"Oh, but you will," Trish replied as she pulled on her shirt. "It's already programmed into your phone – the very first speed dial."

Chuck froze. Speed dial #1 had been Jill. "Uh… okay."

Trish opened the door. "I'll go find Devin and have him drive me and Laura back to Omaha, okay?"

Chuck nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Trish's smile turned a little shy, and she looked at the floor. "I think you're a really nice guy, Chuck," she said, quietly. "Don't prove me wrong, okay?"

Chuck smiled and nodded. "Alright," he replied. "I'll make sure to call you."

* * *

Morgan Grimes was always on time for work. It wasn't necessarily because he wanted to be on time, but more because Big Mike had threatened to fire him if he didn't start arriving punctually.

Nonetheless, when he walked into the store this morning, the first thing he heard was, "GRIMES!"

Morgan sighed. He hated mornings that started this way. It was never good for the first thing in the morning to be called into Big Mike's office.

Slowly, he made his way to the office at the back of the Buy More. He peeked his head inside the door. "Yes, Big Mike?"

"Come in, Grimes," Big Mike replied. Morgan pushed the door open, to find a tall, dour-looking man in an Army uniform sitting in Big Mike's office.

"Grimes, this is Colonel, uh…"

"Colonel Marcus Wainwright," the man said, standing. "US Army. I'm working with the National Security Agency, doing some background work on a friend of yours. Charles Bartowski?"

"Chuck?" Morgan asked, confused. "But… why would the Army be investigating him? I mean… he's Air Force, and they already did this."

Colonel Wainwright did not look amused at the fact that Morgan was questioning him. "Mr. Grimes, why don't we go for a walk," he said, in a voice that told Morgan that it was not a suggestion.

Morgan gulped. "Uh, okay."

Ten minutes later, they were walking around the inside of the LargeMart. "Mr. Grimes," Colonel Wainwright began, "how long have you known Lieutenant Bartowski?"

"Uh, since his family moved to Glendale, back in 1986," Morgan replied. "We lived down the street from them."

"Mr. Bartowski ever do any drugs?" Wainwright asked. "Ever associate with any questionable folks? Sleazy characters?"

Morgan looked at Wainwright in disgust. "No! Chuck is one of the most straight-laced people I've ever known!"

Wainwright narrowed his eyes. "Mr. Bartowski was arrested when you were in high school, correct?"

Morgan shook his head and rolled his eyes. "That was crap," he replied. "We were at the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. There was some sort of protest, and we were walking by, and managed to get caught up in a police dragnet."

"But he was arrested."

Morgan looked at Wainwright in disbelief. "No charges were filed! He didn't do anything! Hell, the City of Santa Monica gave him and me each ten thousand dollars as a settlement for wrongful arrest!"

Wainwright sighed and shook his head. "What about Bryce Larkin and Jill Tanner?"

Morgan laughed. "You mean the world's biggest jackass and the Whore of Babylon?" He shook his head. "Bryce was Chuck's roommate, and he was gonna propose to Jill. But then, he went back to Stanford right after Easter, walked in on them fucking."

"I beg your pardon?"

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "You know, Colonel, doin' the nasty, the horizontal hokey-pokey, making the beast of two backs?"

"You mean having sex."

Morgan shook his head. "Yes. They were having sex."

"And he didn't seek revenge on either of them?"

Morgan gave Wainwright a look. "Dude, what is your damage?"

Wainwright stopped and fixed Morgan with a glare. "Mr. Grimes, Lieutenant Bartowski is involved with a highly sensitive government project. We have to ensure that there are no liabilities in his background that could cause issues."

Morgan looked at the ceiling, and then back at Colonel Wainwright. "Look, buddy, Chuck is and has always been on the straight and narrow. And you can believe me. There's only one person who would know him better than me."

"His sister, Eleanor?"

Morgan smiled. "Yes. Ellie Bartowski."

* * *

Chuck followed Casey into an unmarked brown building that Chuck had not seen before. "Have your ID ready," Casey told him as they headed down the corridor.

Chuck just nodded, and dug into the pocket of his Class B uniform for his ID. He had it in his hand when they reached the MP standing at the end of the hall.

"Identification," he grunted. Chuck and Casey both showed their ID cards. The MP nodded, and opened the door for them.

They entered a conference room. At the opposite end of the table from them, a woman Chuck had not seen before sat reading a file. "Good morning, Lieutenant Bartowski," she said, without even looking up.

"Good morning, uh, ma'am," Chuck replied.

"Colonel Louisa Beckman," he heard, as she rose from her seat, finally looking at him. "I understand you think you're important."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon, ma'am?"

Beckman narrowed her eyes. Striding to a laptop sitting on the table near Chuck, she pressed a button.

Chuck was horrified to hear his own voice. "_Don't worry about it. I'm sort of a big deal as far as the Air Force is concerned._"

Beckman pressed the button again. "Let me make something very clear, Mr. Bartowski. I really could give a rat's ass if you violate regulations and bring a woman into the VOQ. But I swear to you, if you ever, EVER, mention this project in even so much as the vaguest terms to a civilian EVER AGAIN, I will shove my foot so far up your ass that you'll be tasting shoe leather. ARE WE CLEAR?!"

Chuck's eyes were pretty much as wide as they would go at that point. "Yes, ma'am!"

Beckman crossed to him, and looked into his eyes. She narrowed her own. "What are you thinking right now, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Ma'am?"

"You're thinking that you don't really like me, aren't you, Mr. Bartowski?" she asked. "You're thinking, 'How dare she invade my privacy like that,' aren't you?"

Chuck shook his head. "Uh, the thought had crossed my mind, ma'am, but –"

"BUT NOTHING, MR. BARTOWSKI," Colonel Beckman roared. "You are the property of the United States Air Force! You HAVE no privacy! Every time you go to the bathroom, every time you talk in your sleep, every time you search for Internet porn, every time you fuck Ms. Reitan, we WILL know about it."

Chuck's face had drained of color. "You're kidding."

Beckman's face hardened. "I am NOT kidding, Mr. Bartowski." As if to underscore her point, she went back to the laptop, and entered a series of keystrokes. An overhead projector lit up –

And there, projected on the wall, larger than life, was Trish Reitan, on top of Chuck, the night before. "Oh for Christ's sake," Casey said in disgust.

"You have a problem, Captain Casey?" Colonel Beckman turned her glare on the older man.

"With all due respect, ma'am, I hardly think this is necessary," Casey replied.

"Well, fortunately, the Air Force doesn't pay you to THINK, Captain," Beckman growled. She entered a command on the laptop, and the image disappeared from the wall.

"Let me make something clear to the BOTH of you," she hissed. "Mr. Bartowski, I expect you to be on your BEST behavior. You are an asset in a highly important part of the war on terror, and you will NOT allow your dick to compromise that, do I make myself crystal FUCKING clear?"

Chuck winced at Beckman's choice of words, but nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

She turned her ire toward Casey. "And as for you, Captain, when I want your opinion, I'll give it to you. Understood?!"

Casey's face hardened, but he too nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Beckman slammed the laptop closed. "I have to return to Washington, but I expect there to be no bullshit while I'm away. Understood?"

Chuck and Casey both nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Without another word, Beckman picked up the laptop and her file and swept out of the conference room. When the door clicked shut, both men let out their breath in relief.

Casey shook his head. "Bitch."

* * *

Sarah Walker knocked on the door frame of Director Graham's office. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Come in, Walker," Graham replied. "Close the door."

_Uh-oh_.

Sarah stepped into the director's office, and swung the door shut behind her. "What can I do for you, sir?"

Graham leaned forward. "I understand you had a bit of a run-in with Bryce Larkin last night."

Sarah sighed. "Yes, sir."

"I also understand that it was related to the fact that he slept with Chuck Bartowski's girlfriend."

Sarah nodded. "Yes, sir. He was trying to impress upon me what a 'good guy' Bartowski is, and… well, sir, I have a difficult time letting hypocrites bullshit me."

Graham shook his head. "Walker, sit."

Sarah sat down.

"What I'm about to tell you does not leave this office," Graham informed her. "Larkin has a certain idealized view of Chuck Bartowski. He believed that Bartowski was the type of person he could've been had he not been recruited by the CIA while still in high school. He was desperate to keep him from the CIA, and specifically from Project Omaha.

"He attempted to have Mr. Bartowski expelled from Stanford to keep him from the project, and then slept with Jill Tanner as a last-ditch attempt to make him quit. Bartowski did not."

Sarah looked at Director Graham in astonishment. "You're telling me that Larkin slept with the woman Chuck planned to ask to marry him to 'protect' him? My God, he's an even bigger bullshitter than I thought!"

Sarah realized that Graham was looking at her curiously. "Did I say something wrong, sir?"

"You called Bartowski 'Chuck'," Graham replied. "You don't even know him."

Sarah sighed. "Quite the contrary, sir. You told me to learn as much as I could about him, and I did just that. I've spent the last twenty-four hours getting to know Chuck Bartowski as well as I can without actually meeting him."

Graham pursed his lips. "Just… I don't want you getting attached, Walker, especially before you've even met him."

She shook her head. "Don't worry, sir. I'll be fine."

* * *

"Bitch," Casey rumbled.

"Yes, she certainly is," came the distinctive voice of Thomas Novak, as he walked through the door. Casey spun around, and Chuck turned more slowly, to see Novak, followed by Devin Woodcomb and a man who Chuck hadn't met yet.

"You must be Lieutenant Bartowski," the man said. "Lieutenant Colonel Rick Valenti. I'm the head of the project."

"Good to meet you, sir," Chuck said, extending his hand to shake Colonel Valenti's.

"Alright, let's get this underway," Novak growled, walking toward the head of the table.

Chuck looked at Devin as he walked past. The young doctor was clean-shaven and groomed, but his face was pale and he had huge bags under his eyes. "You look like shit," Chuck whispered.

"Fuck you with a beer bottle," Devin whispered back, his voice sounding pained. He smiled slightly nonetheless.

"Alright," Novak said. He set his briefcase on the table and opened it. Withdrawing four pairs of what looked like safety glasses, he put on a pair, and passed the other three to Devin, Casey, and Valenti.

"We are about to initiate the first phase of the Omaha Project," he informed them without preamble. "Mr. Bartowski, you will be subjected to a brief series of encoded subliminal images. I need you to concentrate on the screen while they are being displayed.

"The rest of you will need to wear the safety glasses. You will be able to observe the images; however, the lenses will filter a certain portion of the color spectrum, preventing your mind from actually absorbing the encoding."

Casey, Valenti, and Devin all quickly slipped the glasses on. "Mr. Bartowski, are you ready?" Novak asked, as he put his on.

"Yes, sir," Chuck replied.

"Very well. Project Omaha, Phase One… initiated at 9:12 A.M., Central Daylight Time, June 24th, 2003."

Novak withdrew a small remote control from his briefcase, and pointed it at the overhead projector. He pressed a button –

And a series of images immediately began flashing on the wall. Chuck's eyes widened as they appeared, one after the other –

But just as quickly, the wall went dark again. "Image embedding complete, 9:13 A.M.," Novak intoned.

"Alright, Mr. Bartowski," he continued. "Colonel Valenti is going to show you a photograph. I need you to tell me exactly what happens when you see it."

"Ooookay," Chuck said slowly, as Valenti handed him the photograph. Chuck looked down, and saw a picture of a crashed F-117 Nighthawk. "I'm not sure wha-"

Without warning, his brain seemed to go into overdrive. Chuck's eyes rolled back in his head.

He saw the picture of the F-117. Saw a picture of it on fire, saw a picture of residents of Serbia jumping on the destroyed aircraft. Saw US troops moving to destroy what remained of it.

Saw a picture of a banana split.

Chuck's vision popped back to normal. "USAF F-117 Nighthawk out of Holloman Air Force Base in New Mexico," he told them. "Crashed on March 26th, 1999, near Belgrade, in Serbia-Montenegro, during the NATO Kosovo campaign. Pilot was successfully rescued shortly thereafter. It was the first US aircraft lost during the Kosovo campaign."

Valenti looked at Novak. "Exactly," Novak said, a smile beginning to appear on his face. "Alright, Mr. Bartowski, the process clearly works. You ready for more?"

Chuck shrugged. "I'm ready if you are."

* * *

Ellie Bartowski opened the door of her apartment. A rather unpleasant-looking man in a US Army uniform stood outside.

"Good morning," she said. "Can I help you?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Wainwright, US Army, ma'am," he informed her. "I need to ask you some questions about your brother, Charles Bartowski."

"Chuck?" Ellie asked. "Why? What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on, ma'am. Just a security procedure."

Ellie sighed. "Well, ask quickly. I'm due at City of Angels for my shift in forty-five minutes."

"Very well, ma'am. Does your brother have any regular contact with any foreign nationals?"

"No," Ellie replied. "He's never even been out of the country any further than Tijuana."

Wainwright grunted. "Have you known him to ever contact anybody involved with any sort of anarchist or revolutionary organizations?"

"Are you kidding?" Ellie shot back. "My brother? No way!"

"I see," Wainwright replied. It was clear that he did not necessarily share Ellie's view of Chuck. "One last question then."

"Go ahead," Ellie said.

"Has your brother ever mentioned something called Fulcrum?"

Ellie narrowed her eyes. "No. What's a fulcrum?"

Wainwright smiled unpleasantly. "It's nothing, ma'am. Have a good day."


	5. Phantom Flight

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**Chapter Five: "Phantom Flight"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Captain John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Captain Devin Woodcomb, MD – Ryan McPartlin  
Doctor Thomas Novak – Jonathan Frakes  
Lt. Colonel Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Director Arthur Graham – Tony Todd  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Laura Meyers – Megan Fox

* * *

Three months.

That's how long Chuck Bartowski had been at Offutt Air Force Base, being trained as part of Project Omaha. Day in, day out, he was subjected to multiple series of encoded imagery. After absorbing this imagery, intelligence could be triggered in a "flash" through a certain stimulus – be it visual, auditory, taste, smell even – you name it.

Today, though, he would be going on a training mission. The Air Force hadn't been neglecting his desire to fly while he was at Offutt, and so he had been trained on back-seating in F-15s. The mission today, however, would combine his new-found skills as a weapons systems officer (WSO) with his abilities developed under Project Omaha.

"We will be doing a reconnaissance flyover in an RF-4 Phantom," Captain Casey briefed the assembled gathering. It was a small group in the briefing room – Casey, Chuck, Devin Woodcomb, Dr. Novak, Colonel Valenti, and two people Chuck had never seen before – a tall black man in a three piece suit, and a tall, but not quite as tall as Chuck, blonde woman in a professional, almost military looking outfit.

"This will be a simulated bomb damage assessment of an area outside of Oklahoma City," Casey continued. "We will rendezvous with a KC-135R of the 507th at Tinker Air Force Base in order to refuel on the way there, and on the way back. I will be piloting; Lieutenant Charles Bartowski will be filling the WSO slot.

"This will also be the first operational test of Project Omaha," Casey said. "Any stimuli that cause Lieutenant Bartowski to 'flash' will be reported and recorded. In theory, there should be several items in the reconnaissance area that will stimulate flashes."

He looked at Chuck, and then to Colonel Valenti. "Are there any questions?"

Nobody raised their hand, so Casey continued. "At this time, I would like to turn the briefing over to Doctor Novak," he said.

Novak rose and went to the lectern. "Thank you, Captain Casey." He looked ill at ease, as though he was not used to speaking in public.

"I will be monitoring Lieutenant Bartowski's brain function remotely," Novak informed them all. "He will be wearing a flight helmet equipped with special scanning sensors that will allow us to determine the usefulness of Project Omaha in a combat environment. If, at any time, his readings go beyond what I would consider to be 'safe' range, the mission will be aborted."

Novak swallowed and looked toward the back of the room. "We also have two observers with us today," he continued. "I would like to introduce Arthur Graham, director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and Agent Sarah Walker. Agent Walker is a CIA field operative who will be a contributing member of Project Omaha, beginning today."

Chuck's eyebrows went up, and he leaned over to Devin. "Did you know anything about this?" he whispered.

Devin shook his head. "Never heard of her."

Chuck shrugged and sat back in his seat as Director Graham walked to the lectern, Agent Walker behind him. "We at the CIA do appreciate everything that the Air Force has done over the past few months," Graham began. "As I'm sure you're all aware, Colonel Louisa Beckman is your liaison to the National Security Agency, one of the two intelligence agencies participating in this project.

"The CIA is the other agency," he continued. "We would have had a liaison in place some time ago; however, her cover was, um, blown by a leak at the White House." Graham looked particularly annoyed to have to say that.

"Regardless, we do now have a trained operative who will be liaising between the Air Force and the CIA for Project Omaha. Agent Sarah Walker is a highly experienced field officer. A large part of why she has been assigned to this mission is because, well, her life is generally in danger outside of the country."

Graham smiled at that one. "It just means she's doing her job correctly."

He stepped back to let Agent Walker step forward. "Good morning," she said quietly. "I'm looking forward to being part of this project. I've heard a number of good things about it to date, and I'm especially looking forward to working with Lieutenant Bartowski, who I've heard has a rather unique skill."

Devin Woodcomb watched Agent Walker as she spoke, and then looked over at Chuck, a look of incredulity on his face. "Dude," he whispers, "she wants you."

Chuck turned to Devin, a look of disgust on his face. "Dude," he replied, mockingly, "she doesn't even KNOW me."

Colonel Valenti saw the two of them speaking. "Lieutenant Bartowski, Doctor Woodcomb," he said menacingly, "do either of you have something to add?"

"No, sir," Chuck replied. "Just want to welcome Agent Walker to the team."

* * *

Chuck was strapped into the back seat of the RF-4C Phantom reconnaissance jet. It had begun its life as an air superiority fighter shortly before the beginning of the Vietnam War; now, nearly fifty years later, it was coming to the end of its life as a reconnaissance aircraft.

"You ready back there, Bartowski?" he heard John Casey say over the intercom.

"Never gonna be more ready, sir," he replied. Casey chuckled.

"Don't press your luck, Bartowski. I might just have to flip you over."

A few minutes later, everything had been checked off on Casey's checklist – which Chuck had followed along with mentally – and he got the thumbs up from the ground crew that he was clear to go. A starter cart provided the electricity Casey needed to turn over the engines, and the two General Electric J79 turbojets roared to life.

"HOLY SHIT!" Chuck shouted over the intercom. "I THOUGHT THE JETSTAR WAS LOUD!"

"YOU AIN'T HEARD NOTHIN' TILL THIS BABY'S IN FULL BURNER RIGHT BELOW THE SOUND BARRIER!" John Casey shouted back, as he began to taxi. "IT'S THE TRUE MEANING OF NOISE!"

A moment later, the Phantom reached the runway, where Casey brought it to rest, waiting for clearance to take off. "_Chuck_," Chuck heard over his headset, "_this is Dr. Novak. How are you feeling_?"

"I FEEL FINE," Chuck replied. "A LITTLE NERVOUS, BUT FINE!"

"_Dr. Woodcomb says your heart rate is considerably elevated. Are you sure you're okay?_"

"DR. NOVAK, IT'S LOUDER THAN THE 210 FREEWAY AT RUSH HOUR IN HERE. OF COURSE MY HEART RATE IS ELEVATED!"

Novak was quiet for a moment. "_I don't entirely get the reference, but I understand. Captain Casey?_"

"GO AHEAD," Casey called out.

"_If Lieutenant Bartowski's vitals go out of range, we will abort the mission. Understood?_"

"COPY THAT, SIR."

"_Freebird One, this is Tower. You are cleared for takeoff._"

"ROGER THAT."

Casey pushed the Phantom's throttles to the stops. Chuck felt like the world had exploded underneath him as raw fuel was dumped into the turbojets' afterburners, creating such a violent thrust that the aircraft virtually jumped down the runway.

The Phantom pulled off the runway after less than a thousand feet. "HOLY CHRIST!" Chuck yelled. "HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT?!"

Casey laughed. "I'VE FLOWN THESE OFF OF CARRIERS, CHUCK. THAT WAS NOTHING!"

The Phantom rocketed southward toward Oklahoma City. Halfway there, as briefed, they met up with a KC-135 from Tinker Air Force Base. Chuck called out measurements and range for the whole refueling. Casey had to break away once, but other than that, it was as uneventful as two aircraft mating in midair can be.

"Alright," Casey told Chuck. "We're approaching Oklahoma City. I'm gonna be bringing us down to five hundred feet for the BDA. You ready?"

"Ready to go, sir," Chuck replied.

The Phantom dived for the deck, with Casey starting to level out just under a thousand feet. The old fighter leveled off at five hundred feet, and Casey pulled the speed back to just above stall threshold as they headed for the training range.

"Alright," Chuck said as he looked out the canopy. "We've got… let's see…" There was scrap metal, burnt-out buildings, collapsed fences, burned vehicles –

_A burnt-out BTR-60 Soviet armored personnel carrier. A line of BTR-60s rolling into Afghanistan. An exploding doll. An Afghan child with no right arm. Mujaheddin armed with Stinger missiles._

Chuck snapped out of the flash. "There's a column of BTR-60 armored personnel carriers down there," he told Casey. "Looks like 100 lo – SHIT! TRAFFIC! TRAFFIC!"

Casey's eyes went wide at the warning of cross traffic – and sure enough, there was a Learjet, right at their altitude, less than a quarter mile away. "FUCK!" he roared, hauling back on the control stick and pushing the throttles as far as they would go.

Chuck grunted as the G forces pushed down on him. He blinked as his vision began to darken, shook his head to try to ward off unconsciousness –

"BARTOWSKI!"

Chuck shook his head. "Yeah. What's up?"

"Jesus, man, you were out for nearly five minutes!"

"_How you feelin', Chuck?_" Devin Woodcomb's voice broke into the channel.

"I'm okay," Chuck replied. "The G forces just kind of put me out a bit."

"_Well, your vitals are normal, so you're okay to continue, I guess._"

"_Captain Casey, I'm going to leave this call up to you,_" Doctor Novak broke in. "_Do you want to abort, or continue the mission_?"

Casey sighed. "I think it would be best if we abort."

"Casey!" Chuck objected. "What?!"

Casey flipped the intercom over to plane-only mode. "Chuck, you were out for five minutes. I don't think it's a good idea for us to continue."

"Casey, Captain Woodcomb said it would be –"

"CAPTAIN AWESOME is only a Captain because he's a doctor," Casey interrupted. "I'm a Captain because I fucking earned it. Oh, by the way, I'm your superior officer. We're done."

He flipped the intercom back to air-to-ground mode. "Novak, we're comin' home. We should be there in about forty."

* * *

Chuck was pissed off for the rest of the day. Casey had really annoyed him with aborting the mission. Then, when they got back to Offutt, he had to spend nearly two hours being poked and prodded by Devin and Doctor Novak.

Even though he was given the rest of the day off, he couldn't go spend it with Trish – she was in Minneapolis at a conference. Omaha not being particularly a hotspot of entertainment, Chuck found himself in his quarters, staring at his laptop, sulking.

He was somewhat surprised to hear a knock at the door just before five o'clock. He stood and crossed to the door. It opened to reveal Sarah Walker, the agent who had been introduced earlier.

"Lieutenant Bartowski," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Sarah Walker. We didn't really have a chance to meet earlier."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah. Please, call me Chuck," he replied, taking her hand. "Uh, would you like to come in?"

"Actually," she said, "I was wondering if you'd like to go get dinner. I know, it's a little early, but I was thinking that might be a good way for us to talk, to get to know each other a little better. As I understand it, we're going to be working together quite a bit, and I think it would be a good idea for us to be familiar with one another."

Chuck nodded. "Fair enough," he replied. "Let me… let me get into uniform, and I'll be right with you."

* * *

Chuck had picked out a little hole-in-the-wall Mexican cantina in Omaha that he and Devin tended to frequent. "So, what's your story, Chuck Bartowski?" Sarah asked him.

He smiled. "Come on, you're CIA, you probably know me better than I know myself."

Sarah laughed. "Humor me. Tell me about yourself."

"Okay," Chuck said. "Well, I was born in Connecticut, grew up in L.A. My best friend is a guy named Morgan Grimes – we went to junior high and high school together, worked at the same store in high school. I went to Stanford, had a good time except for getting stabbed in the back by my ex-friend Bryce and my ex-girlfriend Jill."

_Oh, I know all about that_, Sarah thought. "That does suck," she sympathized. "Now, let me see if I've got this straight, though. Your best friend's name is Morgan?" She laughed. "I didn't know people named their kids Morgan anymore – or, well, Chuck for that matter!"

"My parents were sadists," Chuck replied, with a perfectly straight face. "Morgan – well, carnival freaks found him in a dumpster and raised him as one of their own."

So serious was the look on Chuck's face that Sarah didn't know whether or not he was pulling her leg – until he started laughing. "I seriously had you going there!" he said.

She shook her head. "No you didn't."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sarah, you can't bullshit a bullshitter. You believed me."

"Fine," she admitted, laughing. "But you know, it's hard to tell when a guy like you is being serious or not."

Chuck's jaw dropped in mock horror. "How… how DARE you, madam!" He pointed a finger at her. "You… you don't even know me – wait. You're CIA, of course you know me."

Sarah laughed again as Chuck smiled. "You're a gigantic geek, you know that?" she asked him, grabbing the hand he was pointing at her and returning it to the table.

"Uh, well, actually, nerd is the preferred term," he replied, not bothering to remove his hand from hers.

* * *

Laura Meyers could not believe what she was seeing. There, not twenty feet away from her, was her roommate's boyfriend, flirting with a gorgeous blonde and – oh my God, he was holding her hand.

Enough was enough. Laura dug her cell phone out of her purse, and dialed. "Trish!" she snapped when her roommate answered. "You are not gonna BELIEVE what I am seeing right now."


	6. Don't Mess With the Walker

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

_**CHAPTER SIX: "Don't Mess With the Walker"**_

_**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**__Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Trish Reitan – Olivia Wilde  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Air Force specialist #1 – Seth Rogen  
Air Force specialist #2 – Jason Segel  
Captain Devin Woodcomb, MD – Ryan McPartlin  
Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright – Richard Belzer_

* * *

_BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM_

Chuck Bartowski was unceremoniously dragged from his sleep by somebody pounding on his door - yet again.

_BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM_

"What the fuck?" he asked himself drowsily. Rolling over, he looked at his alarm clock.

3:15 A.M.

_BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM_

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," he muttered. Levering himself out of his bed, he stumbled toward the door.

Chuck made the mistake of looking at his reflection in the mirror, illuminated only by the dim light of the plug-in air freshener. "Christ," he whispered. "I look like hell."

But since that was his regular look for being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, he continued making his way toward the door. Pulling it open, he was surprised to see –

"A HOT BLONDE, CHUCK?!"

"Well, hello to you too," Chuck muttered, opening the door and letting Trish in. He was simultaneously surprised and pleased to see her, while also somewhat taken aback by her greeting.

"How did you get on base?" he asked her. "I know you don't have a milit-"

_SMACK_

"Ow," Chuck objected, rubbing his cheek.

"Really, Chuck, I go out of town for a conference, and you go off and hook up with some supermodel blonde?" Trish growled at him. "Where is the skanky wench, Chuck? Do you have her stashed in the bathroom?!"

Chuck took a deep breath. "Trish. What the HELL are you talking about?"

She turned and looked at him, hands on her hips. "Chuck. I'm talking about Torino's Cantina. I'm talking about the fact that Laura saw you there with some tall, leggy, big-boobed blonde chick. I'm talking about the fact that she saw you there flirting with her and HOLDING HER GODDAMN HAND."

"Tall, leggy, big-boobed blonde?" Chuck asked in astonishment. "You mean Agent Walker?!"

"WHAT?!"

"That was SO not what Laura thought," Chuck said, not believing what he was hearing. "Sarah Walker is the newest member of the project I'm part of! She's a federal agent – she just joined the team!"

Trish stared at Chuck with a look that, in the dim light, looked distinctly like one of mistrust and disbelief. "So you weren't flirting with her."

Chuck shook his head. "I was having a pleasant conversation with a colleague. That's all."

Trish still didn't look like she believed him, but her expression was beginning to soften. "She's just a co-worker? Nothing else?"

Chuck laughed softly. "Trish, of course she's nothing else. Why would I EVER cheat on you?"

She finally smiled. "Well, I don't know, Chuck," she replied. "I guess that's what I was asking myself the entire drive down from Minneapolis."

Chuck arched his eyebrows. "You DROVE all the way here from Minneapolis?"

Trish shrugged. "I left when Laura called me at eight… just got here, too."

Chuck smiled and shook his head. "So you're probably pretty tired, right?"

"Oh yeah."

He gestured toward the bed. "Then what do you say we both get some sleep?"

Trish's smile got a little bigger. "Oh, sure, but I think that since you WEREN'T cheating on me with some federal agent, we can have a little fun first, don't you?"

* * *

Sarah was up late. She was a night owl by nature.

She got a few odd looks as she wandered around the base, but one flash of her ID card warded off any bothersome sentries. A matte black card with only her photo, her name, and a narrow red band, the national command authority ID card carried the full weight of the Oval Office behind it.

Sarah strolled into the Intersect project building. It was practically silent at this time of night – although, she did hear what sounded distinctly like two male voices –

She followed the voices down the corridor and around a corner. As she got closer to them, she realized that they were coming from the project surveillance room.

"DUDE, look at that ass go!" she heard one voice say as she opened the door. "I mean, holy shit –"

The two men in the room both froze as Sarah stepped in. They were both wearing Air Force uniforms with black National Security Agency tabs on the collar. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said, a bit of ice to her voice. "Mind if I ask what you're watching?"

"Uh, we're just, uh, we're keeping surveillance on Lieutenant Bartowski's room, uh, for security purposes, ma'am."

Sarah's stomach dropped. _LIEUTENANT BARTOWSKI_?!

Sure enough, there was Chuck, flat on his back, a gigantic idiotic smile on his face as a short, lithe woman rode him like a goddamn Kentucky Derby thoroughbred. Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I hardly think this is an appropriate use of your time, gentlemen," she ground out. "Find something more productive to do."

Sarah refrained from slamming the door as she left the room, but as she stormed down the hallway, it was all she could do to not punch the wall.

_GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, KAREN_, she ordered herself – and then froze in mid-thought. She wasn't Karen anymore. She hadn't been for months.

"Goddammit," she muttered. She barely knew this guy – she had JUST met him. He was an asset, not a potential romantic interest. So why in the HELL did it bother her so much to see him having sex with who she assumed was his girlfriend?

"Fuck."

* * *

The next morning, Chuck had to get Trish off base before 8:00 AM – that was when the guard who had let her on base and let her leave her car in the motorpool went off duty. "Love you, Chuck," she said with a smile as she got into her car.

"I love you too, babe," he responded. He watched as Trish drove away, toward the main gate, and then, with a spring in his step, headed off toward the mess hall.

He got into the chow line, and picked up his morning tray of deep fried crap and cholesterol with much more gusto than usual. Filling his coffee cup with standard-issue Air Force coffee that could probably fuel an F-15, he looked around the room for a seat. Spotting Sarah Walker sitting near the door, he headed her way with a smile on his face.

Setting his tray down on the table, he cheerily said, "Good morning, Agent Walker!"

She looked up at him. Her face was pale from lack of sleep, she had bags under her bloodshot eyes, and quite frankly, she looked PISSED. "And a very happy go fuck yourself to you too," she growled.

To say that Chuck was taken aback would be an understatement. "Uh… okay," he said slowly as he sat down. "Mind if I ask what I did to deserve this kind of treatment?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes at Chuck and steepled her fingers. "Well, let's see," she said. "I seem to recall going out to dinner last night and having quite a good time. I seem to remember you turning your charm setting up to 'FULL', and quite happily flirting with me all night long. I seem to recall that you ended up holding my hand for nearly half of dinner, and what was that last thing?"

She paused, almost for dramatic effect, because Chuck could see in her eyes that she knew exactly what she was going to say. "Oh, RIGHT," she growled. "I almost forgot about the part where you drove me back to my hotel and kissed me good night, you piece of shit."

Chuck blanched. This was not good, but he kept his face a mask of inscrutability. "And what part of all that makes me a so-called 'piece of shit'?" he asked.

"Oh, that would be the part where I walked into the project surveillance room last night and unwittingly saw what I can only assume was a live reenactment of _Debbie Does Dallas_ in your VOQ."

Chuck's jaw dropped. _Oh, shit_.

"I… I can explain," he said weakly. "Um, that, that was my girlfrie-"

"YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?" Sarah roared, standing up and knocking over her chair in the process. "For CHRIST's sake, I thought you were a good guy!"

Chuck crossed his arms. "I AM a good guy."

Sarah laughed. "Could've fuckin' fooled me, you asshole." She shook her head. "I cannot BELIEVE I thought I liked you."

Chuck looked around. The entire mess hall had gone dead silent, and every eye on the room was fixed on them. "Can we not have this conversation here?"

"Not a problem," Sarah shot back. "In fact, let me say one more thing, and I'll be done."

She turned to the room and raised her voice. "JUST SO EVERYBODY HERE KNOWS, LIEUTENANT CHUCK BARTOWSKI IS A CHEATING, PHILANDERING, DICKLESS PIECE OF SHIT!"

Sarah turned back to Chuck. Reaching under the edge of his tray, she flipped it up, covering his flight suit in a layer of greasy eggs and bacon. "Have a good day, LIEUTENANT."

Chuck sat in shock as Sarah stalked out of the mess hall. He still hadn't moved a minute later when Devin Woodcomb sat down across from him.

"Dude. That was NOT awesome."

* * *

Bryce Larkin sat in his cubicle, mindlessly staring at the computer screen. He had been staring at the same thing for nearly an hour – distribution patterns of illegal entries across the Mexico-Arizona border.

He sighed. This was NOT what he had envisioned when he had joined up with the CIA. He thought that he would end up in some jungle in Venezuela, taking down rebel agents with his beautiful female partner agent by his side.

"Clearly, I was sharp as a marble on that one," he grumbled to himself. Bryce had gotten wind about a month before of a psychoanalytical report that Doctor Thomas Novak had filed on him. Bryce remembered visiting Novak once, and apparently Novak had decided that Bryce was unfit for field work.

Bryce stood, stretching. Exiting his cubicle, he headed toward the break room. When he walked in, he was surprised to see a tall, skinny guy in an Army uniform sitting at the table.

"Good morning, Agent Larkin," the man – Lieutenant Colonel Wainwright, according to his insignia and nametag – said to Bryce.

"You got the wrong guy, pal," Bryce replied. "I'm not an agent, I'm just an analyst."

"And yet you easily have the potential to be an agent," Wainwright replied. "I've seen your file, Mr. Larkin. I've seen what you can do. Your marksmanship is extraordinary, your physical skills are beyond expectations, your intelligence and language skills are off the chart – and yet you languish in a cubicle. All because you feel guilty."

Bryce laughed and looked at Wainwright. "With all due respect, Colonel, you have no idea."

Colonel Wainwright shrugged. "You thought you could keep Chuck Bartowski out of Project Omaha," he replied. "Your failure eats at you night and day."

Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Listen, pal, I don't know how you found out about that shit, but you just violated half a dozen different security protocols. You need to get the hell out of here right now, or I'm gonna have you locked up."

Wainwright smiled – and the smile sent chills down Bryce's spine. "Oh, believe me, Mr. Larkin, I have enough power that they would never touch me. We at the National Security Agency tend to be… persuasive."

Bryce's mouth suddenly tasted sour. "You're NSA?" he spat, saying _NSA_ almost like a curse word.

"Among other things," Wainwright replied, standing. "Take my card, Mr. Larkin," he said, withdrawing a business card from his breast pocket and holding it out to Bryce. "If you're interested in going further… give me a call."

His smile got a little bigger and a little nastier. "Your decision could be the fulcrum on which your friend's life turns… Bryce."

* * *

Chuck sat at the desk in his quarters, looking from one computer to the other. He had gotten Ellie to send his iBook to him, so now he had the setup he LOVED – his Alienware laptop for gaming, his iBook for all the media stuff – music, movies, everything. He had them networked together, and used the tiny setup to prove to visitors that he was, in fact, still a great big nerd.

But right at the moment, his sense of humor was nowhere to be found. After Trish had left, his day had been positively rotten. The incident with Sarah had only been the tip of the iceberg. Captain Casey had demanded to know what the hell was going on, and then Colonel Valenti wanted to know the same.

Then, an imagery upload had gone horribly wrong, and Chuck had had the mother of all migraines until Doctor Novak was able to come up with an upload to negate the first one. Chuck had refused to do any further work after that, and even though Devin and Doctor Novak both backed him up, Colonel Beckman just about went through the roof when she heard the news.

"Thank God she's in Washington," Novak had muttered after the videoconference disconnected.

And so now, Chuck was alone in his quarters, feeling grumpy. Trish was working tonight, Devin had been pulled for a shift at the base hospital, and Chuck sure as hell didn't feel like hanging out with Casey. So he just felt sorry for himself.

He was surprised when there was a knock on his door just after seven o'clock. He was even more surprised when he opened the door to find Sarah Walker standing on the other side.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then she broke the ice, saying, "May I come in?"

"That depends," Chuck replied. "Are you planning on making any more complimentary remarks about me to the world at large?"

Sarah smiled wryly. "Right," she said. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk about."

Chuck sighed and stood back, letting her come in. Sarah passed him, and sat on the edge of the bed. Chuck returned to his desk chair, turning to face her.

"Listen," she began. "I… I can't apologize enough for this morning. I was out of line, and I really had no right to do that to you."

Chuck nodded. "That was pretty messed up," he agreed. "But I can't say I didn't deserve it. I guess I did sort of lead you on last night –"

"That's putting it mildly," Sarah muttered.

"– and for that, I apologize." He sighed. "I have a girlfriend, who I care about a lot. And don't get me wrong, I think you're great. But I'm not going to cheat on Trish, and to be honest, we're colleagues. Letting anything happen between us would probably be a mistake and would likely get us in loads of trouble."

He paused for a moment, thinking. "What I did last night was stupid. I don't regret it, but it was dumb."

Sarah pursed her lips and nodded. "Yeah. That was pretty stupid of you," she agreed. "But I think you're right about us being colleagues and needing to remain professional."

Chuck shrugged. "I'm not saying we can't be friends," he replied. "I'm just saying that's all we can be."

"Alright," Sarah said. "So… you forgive me for this morning?"

"That depends," Chuck replied, "you forgive me for last night?"

Sarah smiled slightly. "You've got nothing to apologize for."

"Then… friends?" Chuck extended his hand toward Sarah.

She grasped it. "Friends."


	7. Deployment

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER SEVEN: "Deployment"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Captain Devin Woodcomb, MD – Ryan McPartlin  
General Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright – Richard Belzer  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Trish Reitan – Olivia Wilde  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Doctor Thomas Novak – Jonathan Frakes  
Lt. Colonel Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Captain John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Laura Meyers – Megan Fox  
Jeff Farley – Scott Krinsky  
Lester Patel – Vik Sahay  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Bryce Larkin - Matthew Bomer

* * *

Training was over.

Assessment was over.

The buildup was over, and it was time for the mission to begin.

The Project Omaha team would be deploying to Baghdad just after the New Year. However, it wouldn't exactly be the same team that had been working together for the last six months.

Casualty number one was Captain Devin Woodcomb. During a PT run a week before Christmas, he had landed on his right foot wrong. Devin had gone down hard, tearing his anterior cruciate ligament in the process. He was informed that Iraq was out of the question, and instead, he would finish his tour of duty at the Veterans' Administration hospital in west Los Angeles.

The second missing member of the team – though nobody was complaining too terribly much – was Colonel Louisa Beckman, who was actually now Brigadier General Louisa Beckman. She had been promoted to deputy director of the National Security Agency.

Taking her place on the team was a US Army Lieutenant Colonel by the name of Marcus Wainwright. Though nobody quite hated him like they all did General Beckman, he gave them all, as Chuck – who was now First Lieutenant Charles Bartowski – put it, "the heebie-jeebies."

Though Chuck was going to miss being in the United States, he knew that it would also solve a minor conflict that was simmering just below the surface. It seemed that being in a relationship with Trish Reitan while being friends with Sarah Walker was a problem. A very big problem.

They certainly seemed to be cordial, even civil to one another. However, whenever Sarah was around, Trish seemed to go out of her way to make it clear that Chuck was HERS, and in return, Sarah always seemed to do whatever she could to one-up Trish for Chuck's attention. Chuck did find all the attention he was receiving rather flattering, but it was starting to be a big, big problem.

Devin had warned him that it was only going to get worse – after all, Chuck WAS going to be thousands of miles away, WITH Sarah, while Trish would be left behind in Omaha. Chuck told Devin not to worry, that he had THAT under control.

But right now – it was their last night of freedom. They had the following day off, but tomorrow night, the evening of Sunday, January 4th, 2004, they would be boarding a KC-10 tanker that would take them to Baghdad. So tonight, it was decided – Devin had rented a Cadillac Escalade, and it was going to be the Project Omaha Party Bus to Kansas City.

Doctor Novak had almost fainted in despair when he heard about the idea, but Colonel Valenti had convinced him that it was their last night of freedom, and that the team was entitled to celebrate, because life was going to suck once they were in Iraq. Captain Casey had been invited to join the party, but he had declined, saying that covering himself in papercuts and then taking a lemon juice bath sounded more appealing.

"Aren't you gonna miss Mr. Happy Fun Guy?" Chuck muttered to Devin after they walked away from talking to Casey.

"Oh, YEAH," Devin shot back, rolling his eyes.

The atmosphere in the Escalade was mildly awkward. Devin was driving, Sarah riding shotgun, and the backseat saw Chuck sandwiched between Trish and Laura Meyers.

Trish had briefly shot Sarah a look of pure hatred when she saw her in the Escalade, but had refrained from saying anything. Laura and Devin had never really gone anywhere, except for being friends, occasionally with benefits, so that was a little awkward as well.

Nonetheless, Chuck was determined that they were going to have a good goddamn time. "Last night of freedom, here we come!" he shouted through the sunroof as the Escalade rolled south on I-29, headed for the city on the Mississippi.

When the dust settled, it was 6:30 AM. They were all in various states of unconsciousness in a room at a Holiday Inn just north of the river. Though their memories would be fuzzy, they would eventually put together the pieces –

At one point, Devin had gone streaking through a gay bar.

Laura had done a strip tease on a tabletop at Hardee's.

Sarah and Trish had, on a dare, made out for nearly two minutes in front of what had to be half the male population of Kansas City.

Chuck had performed an incredibly stupid stunt known as "Ship's Mast" on the hood of the Escalade, proclaiming, "I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!" as Devin slowly drove through downtown Kansas City.

And when the five awoke on the morning of January 4th, they all agreed that the evening of January 3rd would never be spoken of again.

* * *

Chuck Bartowski did not like to say good-bye, but he had to – both to the woman he had fallen in love with, and to a guy who had become a very good friend of his. It was going to be very difficult to say good-bye to Trish, ESPECIALLY since he was going to be in Iraq with Sarah, but after consulting at length with his sister, Chuck thought he had figured something out.

But first, he had to say good-bye to Devin Woodcomb.

"Captain Awesome," Chuck said with a grin, calling the young doctor by his behind-the-back nickname for the first time. "I'm gonna miss you, man. It's been fun."

"It has been AWESOME, Chuck," Devin corrected him. "I just wish I knew somebody in Los Angeles… I'm afraid it's gonna be sucktastic for a while."

Chuck grinned. "Actually, now that you mention it… my sister just happens to live in L.A. – and guess what? She's an intern at City of Angels Medical Center."

Devin's right eyebrow went up. "REALLY," he replied. "As in your sister, that hot brunette whose picture you have in your wallet?"

Chuck's expression went from a smile to a glare. "That would be my sister, yes," he replied. "Don't make me regret telling her about you and getting her permission to give you her number."

Devin smiled. "Oh… I won't make you REGRET it, per se…"

"DEVIN!"

"Don't worry about it, bro. I'll take care of your sister."

Chuck had one more person to say good-bye to. He waited until everybody else was on the plane or, in Devin's case, driving away, to approach Trish.

"I love you," he said softly as he stopped in front of her.

"I love you too," she replied, tears in her eyes. "But you're gonna be so far away…"

"I know," Chuck said, fighting back the tears that were threatening to come to his own eyes. "I'm gonna miss you so, so much."

Trish smiled sadly. "Not more than I'll miss you."

"Care to bet on it?"

Trish's expression turned a little confused. "What do you mean?"

Chuck smiled. "I want to leave a little something here with you so that you'll feel like I'm still here."

Trish cocked her head to the side. "What are you going to leave with – oh my God."

As she had been talking, Chuck had slowly lowered himself to one knee, and reached into his pocket, his hand coming back out with a ring in it. "I realized a while ago that I could spend the rest of my life as a very happy man, even if I'm in Iraq, if you're a part of it."

Trish looked like she was in shock. Her eyes were wide, her mouth gaping open – but there was no mistaking the undeniable joy that was written all over her face. "Patricia Danae Reitan… will you marry me?"

She nodded, dumbstruck, and finally made herself speak. "YES!"

* * *

She watched.

She watched as Chuck slowly dropped to his knee.

She watched as he withdrew the ring from his pocket.

She watched as Trish nodded, and then jumped up in the air.

She watched as Chuck embraced Trish, and then kissed her – kissed her in the way that a man kisses the woman he loves when he's not going to see her again for months.

Sarah Walker watched all this, and fought down the feelings of jealousy and rage building inside her. She shouldn't have felt that way. She had agreed with Chuck that they would just be friends, because they were professional colleagues. Chuck and Trish had been together for seven months – she knew that this day would eventually come.

And yet she couldn't help it. When Karen Faust was in high school, she had always gotten the boys she wanted. At the University of Washington, she had been one of those college girls who is considered God's gift to men. In the CSIS, and then in the CIA, even after she became Sarah Walker, she had had no problem getting what she wanted.

But there it was. The one thing she truly wanted. The man who was a better friend than any she had ever had before. The man who she had tried desperately to not have feelings for, and yet had unwittingly fallen in love with.

And now he was gone. Taken. And approaching the aircraft.

Sarah hastily rose from her seat and headed toward the lavatory. She drew a curious look from Doctor Novak as she passed him, but he didn't say anything.

She managed to keep the tears from coming until she had locked herself in the lavatory.

* * *

"_Good evening, folks, this is Colonel Valenti. Captain Casey and I will be ferry-piloting this beast to Iraq. We'd ask that you keep your seatbelts fastened when you can, turn off your electronic shit, and try not to throw peanuts at one another. If you violate any of these rules, Agent Walker has our permission to shoot you."_

* * *

Devin Woodcomb had been in Los Angeles for a week now. He had found an apartment in Santa Monica that was a fifteen minute ride on the Rapid 720 bus from the VA Hospital. He liked his co-workers, he liked the hospital –

But he was bored.

Driving a used minivan, he drove to a store called Buy More on Santa Monica Boulevard, looking to seriously upgrade the entertainment value of his apartment. Unfortunately, they didn't have the television he wanted. "However, the Burbank store DOES have it," he was told.

Negotiating Los Angeles traffic had been something of a nightmare for Devin. He was used to Omaha, and before that, Cincinnati. Los Angeles was definitely a shock.

However, Devin made it to Burbank alive and with most of his nerves intact. He headed inside, and was surprised to see the store practically empty. There were maybe three or four customers milling around, but not a single sales associate that he could see.

Wandering toward the back of the store, Devin began to hear what sounded like a chant coming from behind the stock room doors. His curiosity getting the better of him, the convalescing Air Force doctor headed through the doors and down a hallway.

As he got closer, he could tell what the chant was. "_Mystery crisper_!" was what he heard. "_Mystery crisper_!"

"I don't think I even want to know," he muttered. Pushing open the breakroom door, he saw a skinny, bearded short guy, shirtless and blindfolded, standing in the center of the room with what looked to be months-old leftovers from the breakroom refrigerator.

"YO!" Devin shouted over the chanting of what had to be twenty other employees crammed into the small room. They fell silent, and their eyes turned to Devin.

"What's an outsider doing here?" asked one guy, an older looking man in a white shirt. He was balding and had the look of an alcoholic.

"That's an excellent question, Jeffrey," replied the shorter Indian guy next to him, trying to make his voice sound sinister.

Devin shook his head in exasperation. "I want to buy a shitload of expensive stuff, but there's nobody out there to help me!"

Immediately, half a dozen people in green polo shirts surrounded him, wanting to know what he wanted to buy. "Uh-uh," Devin said firmly. "I want the guy who was gonna eat the leftovers to help me. I think he's got balls."

Immediately, the man in question whipped off the blindfold. "Yes, sir!" he stated, grabbing his shirt to pull it back on. "Morgan Grimes, at your service!"

Devin's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "YOU'RE MORGAN?!" he asked, in astonishment.

Morgan looked back at him, confused. "Uh, yeah…"

"You're Chuck Bartowski's best friend, Morgan!" Devin laughed. "What a small freakin' world!"

Morgan cocked his head to the side. "How do you know Chuck?"

"We were stationed together for the last six months!" Devin replied. "I can't believe this – I come here and meet you!"

Then he remembered. "That reminds me – I'm supposed to be giving his sister a call… uh, what's her name, Ellie?"

Morgan took a deep breath, and then sighed. "Ah, the goddess Eleanor," he said. "Yes, I can introduce you to her, but I will warn you, she's a heartbreaker. A soul taker. She will chew you up and spit you out before you even realized what has happened."

* * *

Bryce couldn't stand it any longer. Reading the report about how Chuck had been sent to Iraq, with that amazingly hot agent that he had yelled at in the cafeteria that night oh so many months ago – it just caused something to bend, and finally snap.

Picking up the phone, he called the number Colonel Wainwright had given him. "_Wainwright_," he heard the Army colonel's oily voice say.

"Colonel, this is Mr. Bates," Bryce replied, using the code name that Wainwright had told him to use. "I'm in."

He could almost hear the man smile over the phone. "_Excellent, Mr. Bates. Remain in place and await orders. I look forward to working with you._"

**_

* * *

_****_END PART ONE_**


	8. And So It Begins

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**BEGIN PART TWO**

**Chapter 8: "And So It Begins"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Dr. Miles Fleming – Scott Alan Smith  
Captain John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Captain Devin Woodcomb, MD – Ryan McPartlin  
Lt. Colonel Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
General Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Dr. Thomas Novak – Jonathan Frakes  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Trish Reitan – Olivia Wilde  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright – Richard Belzer  
Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd – Naveen Andrews

* * *

My name is Chuck Bartowski. A year ago, I was nobody special – just a senior in his last semester at Stanford University, on an Air Force ROTC scholarship, waiting for school to be done so that I could go fly exotic birds of war around the wild blue yonder.

I had absolutely no idea that very shortly, my life was going to go off the rails.

It seems that I have a particular mental skill for absorbing subliminal imagery and connecting patterns to create cohesive, usable intelligence. One of my professors, Dr. Miles Fleming, works for the Central Intelligence Agency. He recognized this skill in me, and recommended me for a program that the CIA was developing in conjunction with the Department of Defense.

"Project Omaha", it was called – and it turned out that it was called that simply because it was located at Offutt Air Force Base, just south of, you guessed it, Omaha, Nebraska. I was shanghaied to Offutt on my way to Randolph Air Force Base, in Texas.

I thought I was going off to flight school. The Air Force had other ideas, and sent one Captain John Casey to make sure I got to the right place. He was the deputy director of Project Omaha.

Initially, the Project Omaha team was all Air Force personnel, save one. There was me, of course – the focus of the project. Then, there was Captain Casey, its deputy director. Captain Devin Woodcomb was the project's medical officer. Lieutenant Colonel Rick Valenti was the project director, Colonel Louisa Beckman was our liaison with the National Security Agency, and by extension, the Department of Defense.

For the first three months, the lone civilian on the project was Dr. Thomas Novak. He is a CIA psychiatrist who had been assigned to the team to make sure that I didn't go loony.

Why would I have gone loony? Well, what Project Omaha consisted of was uploading subliminally encoded imagery into my mind. Based on certain stimuli, my mind would put the imagery together in patterns and create that intelligence I mentioned earlier.

Right now, I have every piece of military intelligence that the Department of Defense has in my brain. It's a little weird, but the whole point of this is to study my brain in order to figure out how to create software for a computer that would be able to do the same thing – not just with military intelligence, though, but with everything that any intelligence agency comes up with.

After three months, another civilian joined our team. And oh, what a civilian she is.

Agent Sarah Walker came to us from the Central Intelligence Agency to be our liaison with the CIA. She is, well, incredible. She's nearly as tall as I am, blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect skin… and well, her body is smokin'.

Way out of my league, right? Well… seems she developed a bit of a thing for me. Ordinarily, that wouldn't have been a problem… except I have a girlfriend. Well, a fiancée.

I met Trish Reitan my first night in Omaha. Devin Woodcomb took me out on the town, and we ran into Trish. She's a grad student at the University of Nebraska Medical School, and we hit it off right away. There was a bumpy patch right after Agent Walker arrived – I pulled a really stupid stunt that could have fit a certain definition of cheating on Trish, WITH Agent Walker – but we smoothed things out.

Sarah – that's Agent Walker – was pissed at first. You see, I didn't tell her that I had a girlfriend, so she was understandably hurt. But, she recovered, and we're really good friends now.

A couple of weeks ago, Project Omaha deployed to Baghdad for field combat deployment. Right before we left, though, three very important events occurred.

One: Devin Woodcomb got scratched from the team. He tore his ACL during a PT run, and that was the end of that. He's serving out the duration of his time in the USAF with the V.A. hospital in Los Angeles. I told him he should look up my sister, Ellie.

I wonder how that's going.

Two: Colonel Beckman got promoted to Brigadier General and, correspondingly, to Deputy Director of the National Security Agency. She was replaced by a US Army Colonel named Marcus Wainwright. Nobody likes him. He's a thoroughly unpleasant individual, and quite frankly, he gives us all the creeps.

Three: I asked Trish to marry me. I knew she didn't entirely trust me being around Sarah for God-knows-how-long in Iraq, and I wanted to prove my dedication to her. So, right there on the tarmac, right before I got on the KC-10 to Baghdad, I got down on one knee and popped the question.

Interestingly enough, the only thing that Sarah has said to me since then that wasn't in a professional context was a very tepid, "Congratulations." I really think I need to get her to sit down and talk to me.

Anyway, here we are, in Iraq. My first combat mission is tomorrow. Captain Casey and I are taking an EF-111 Raven up, and I'm going to spend some time listening in on radio traffic, see if I flash on anything that would let us pin down members of this fledgling insurgency that's popping up around here.

It should be fun.

* * *

Bryce Larkin had been having an easier time of it since he placed the phone call.

He thought it was ironic. He made a call, agreed to essentially betray his country, and then Director Graham decided to entrust him with more responsibility. Bryce was moved into the Operations directorate, and had begun training to actually go out in the field.

He hadn't heard back from Colonel Wainwright yet, and was beginning to mildly hope that he wouldn't. Ever since he had gone into officer training, he had decided that maybe things could work out after all.

But on the afternoon of Monday, January 19th, he received a call at home. "_Go to the 7-Eleven by the Ballston Metro Station in Arlington,_" he heard, before the call disconnected.

Puzzled, Bryce got on the Metro and rode out to the Ballston station. He walked to the 7-Eleven and waited outside.

After nearly ten minutes, the ringing of one of the pay phones startled him. Trying not to look too suspicious, he answered the phone. "Hello?"

"_Good afternoon, Mr. Bates,_" the unmistakable voice of Colonel Wainwright said. "_Are you prepared for your first assignment?_"

Bryce's heart started racing. "Yes."

"_I need you to research and find for me any exploitable weaknesses on the EF-111 Raven electronic intelligence aircraft._"

Bryce nearly laughed. "I don't even need to research that. In fact, I just spent this whole last weekend doing that research. There are NO exploitable weaknesses. The EF-111 is as airtight as you can make an aircraft. The Air Force has done everything they possibly can. The only thing that the Raven is susceptible to is anti-aircraft weaponry."

There was silence at the other end for a moment, and then Bryce heard a muttered, "_Goddammit._"

"What's going on?"

"_Who issued the request for the research?_"

Bryce didn't have to think twice about that, either. "Agent Sarah Walker." He swore he heard Colonel Wainwright growl at the other end.

"_Son of a bitch,_" the Army colonel said. "_Alright, Agent Larkin. That was all. I need you to go home and forget that this call ever happened._"

Now Bryce was confused. "Yes, sir," he said, but as he heard the dial tone, he realized he was speaking to dead air.

Bryce shook his head, and turned back in the direction of the Metro station.

As he rode back toward his apartment in Greenbelt, Bryce started thinking. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. That phone call that had just occurred didn't give him much confidence in this shadow organization, and he was finally going places with the CIA.

"Forget it," he muttered to himself. There would be no more. The next time Colonel Wainwright called, Bryce would tell him so.

* * *

The converted former strategic bomber slowly taxied to the runway. "God, it's been forever since I flew a 111," John Casey told Chuck.

"That's encouraging," Chuck replied drily. "Try not to crash us, alright? This is a billion dollar plane, after all."

Casey rolled his eyes. "I've been flying for ten years, Chuck. I don't intend to start having problems now."

"_Freebird-One, please hold._"

Chuck smiled and looked over at Casey. "Why is your call sign 'Freebird-One,' Captain? You a big Skynyrd fan?"

Casey smiled. "I have everything they've ever done, but that's not the main reason why that's my call sign," he replied. "When I was at the Air Force Academy, Lynyrd Skynyrd played a show in Denver. I drove up there, and managed to get myself down front and center.

"They played this insane medley of _Sweet Home Alabama_ and Warren Zevon's _Werewolves of London_ which they ended SO thunderously that there was just this ponderous silence filling McNichols Arena. In the middle of that, I screamed 'PLAY FREE BIRD!' as loud as I could, Johnny van Zant looked down, said, 'Okay, we'll play the song, but only because Airman Freebird there requested it,' and they honest to God played it."

Chuck laughed. "I cannot believe that you actually got Skynyrd to play _Free Bird_."

Casey shrugged. "Thus my call sign. Speaking of which…"

He keyed the microphone. "Freebird-One to tower, what is ETA on clearance for takeoff?"

"_Freebird-One, in about ten seconds, you're gonna see a B-52 land… as soon as it clears the runway, you're free to go._"

Sure enough, almost as soon as the controller stopped speaking, a thunderous roar overpowered the noise of the EF-111's jets, and as Casey and Chuck watched in awe, a massive B-52 Stratofortress lumbered overhead, coming down to land on the tarmac. "Damn those things are huge," muttered Casey.

The nearly fifty year-old bomber finished its rollout, and as soon as it began to turn off the runway, Casey keyed the mike, said, "Freebird-One is rolling," and pushed the Raven's throttles forward. The former bomber took a moment to start accelerating, but soon enough it was rolling.

"Eighty knots," Chuck called out. "One hundred… one twenty… one forty… ROTATE!"

As soon as Chuck called off the "rotate" command, Casey pulled the control stick back. The EF-111 clawed into the air, and with no noise abatement procedures to follow, Casey kicked in the afterburners.

The speed of the elint bird climbed quickly, and before they knew it, the aircraft started shaking slightly. "Sweeping wings," Casey informed Chuck, activating the control to bring the EF-111's variable geometry wings back flush against the aircraft body.

Chuck tried to not watch as the wings swung backwards. Trained fighter pilot or not, he had never quite been able to handle the idea of the aircraft's wings moving in flight. He preferred fixed-wing birds, like F-15s or F-22s.

Nonetheless, the Raven's variable geometry wings gave it the ability to go very fast very efficiently (relatively speaking). Casey punched the speed up to Mach 2 as they headed for their patrol area.

Soon enough, they were orbiting over their assigned zone. "Alright," Casey told Chuck. "Activate radio receivers."

Chuck turned on the radios, and began listening intently. Everything coming through the speakers sounded like gibberish, but they both knew that there could be key phrases that would trigger something within the information planted in Chuck's brain.

Chuck squinted and reached out to adjust the squelch on a channel. Suddenly, his eyes went wide –

_Osama bin Laden. A map of Baghdad. Air Force One. A terrorist training camp. An AK-47. Saddam Hussein –_

"That makes no sense –"

_Osama bin Laden. A map of Baghdad. Air Force One. A terrorist training camp. An AK-47. Saddam Hussein –_

"What the hell is going –"

_Osama bin Laden. A map of Baghdad. Air Force One. A terrorist training camp. An AK-47. Saddam Hussein –_

_Osama bin Laden map of Baghdad Air Force One terrorist training camp AK-47 Saddam Hussein –_

_OSAMABINLADENBAGHDADAIRFORCEONETRAININGCAMPAK-47SADDAMHUSSEIN –_

* * *

Chuck's eyes flew open. "What the hell?!"

Casey looked over at him, concern evident on his face. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Bartowski."

"Shit," Chuck groaned. "My head is fucking killing me."

"What happened, Bartowski?"

"I'm not sure," Chuck replied slowly. "All I know is that I flashed on something, but it was an incoherent information loop that just kept going and going right up until I blacked out."

Casey looked concerned. "That's not good. That's REALLY not good. Do you have any idea what happened?"

Chuck blew his breath out slowly. "It could've been any of a dozen things, Casey. Faulty intelligence, a bad upload, even a computer virus that corrupted some of the files. I mean, this could require a full neutralization and re-boot of the files."

Casey looked horrified at the prospect. It had taken six months to get everything into Chuck's brain, and they didn't have six months to kill. "Freebird-One to base," he said into his microphone. "Get the team working on analyzing every single Project Omaha computer file right now. Do a full virus sweep, check for corrupt files, everything."

"_Copy that, sir._"

Casey turned to Chuck. "It had better not be that, Bartowski, or this project is in deep shit."

* * *

Six hours later, the Project Omaha team were gathered in a conference room. "As you can see," Doctor Novak was saying, "every single file is clean and without corruption. It was not a file issue."

Novak looked worried. "I have to assume that it's a problem with Lieutenant Bartowski's brain – a physical problem. I want to do a head CT as soon as we can."

"That won't be necessary, Thomas."

Chuck's head perked up at the new voice. It had a strange accent – somewhere between an Irish brogue and an Iraqi lilt. The owner of the voice appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent, but he was wearing a US Army uniform.

Colonel Valenti looked up with an expression somewhere between "oh, joy," and "hot diggity."

"Paddy," Valenti said, "what the hell would you know?"

The man shrugged. "I do happen to be a doctor, Rick."

Valenti shook his head and stood. "Ladies and gentlemen, please meet Project Omaha's new medical officer, Lieutenant Colonel Padraig al-Fahd, US Army."

Chuck's eyes narrowed, and he looked at Casey. "Padraig al-Fahd?" he whispered.

"Yes, Padraig al-Fahd," Colonel al-Fahd said. Chuck looked up in shock. "I have excellent hearing, Lieutenant Bartowski. But to answer your unspoken question, my mother was Irish, my father Iraqi. They met in New York City, one thing led to another, and nine months later, I graced Manhattan with my presence."

Pulling out a chair, al-Fahd sat down across from Colonel Wainwright. "Hello, Marcus. Never thought I'd have the displeasure of seeing your face again."

"The feeling's mutual," Wainwright grunted.

"Anyway," al-Fahd continued. "Lieutenant Bartowski, there's nothing wrong with your brain. You were MIJI'd."

Novak snorted in disbelief, and Valenti's face changed to an expression of shock. Wainwright's face looked as if it were made of stone, but Casey's face actually looked like he understood and agreed.

"Come on, Paddy, how could his brain have been MIJI'd?" Valenti asked.

"Very simple," al-Fahd replied. "If the insurgents could get hold of a certain series of sounds that would activate images within Lieutenant Bartowski's brain that would loop to one another, they could broadcast that series, and cause him to go into a loop. Clearly, blacking out broke that loop, but it could've been indefinite had he stayed conscious."

Casey looked thoughtful. "That actually makes sense, sir. I'm surprised to hear that from a doctor."

Colonel al-Fahd smiled. "Ah, Captain Casey, you must understand that before I was a doctor, I worked in electronic warfare. I know ALL about how this works."

Casey smiled and nodded, but then his smile faded. "Wait a second, though," he said. "In order for the insurgency to know what the series of sounds had to be, somebody with access to Project Omaha would've had to tell them."

Al-Fahd's smile also faded. "Very much so, Captain. If they did in fact MIJI Lieutenant Bartowski, then you have a mole."

Casey shook his head. "That's impossible. Each and every person who's part of this project is vetted more thoroughly than a candidate for vice-president."

Colonel al-Fahd shook his head. "Captain, there's something that you need to know about Iraq that I learned a long time ago."

He looked straight at Casey, his eyes burning into the Air Force pilot. "In this part of the world… nothing is impossible."

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ "MIJI" stands for __**M**__eaconing, __**I**__ntrusion, __**J**__amming, and __**I**__nterference. These are four forms of radio interference that are used commonly within electronic warfare; however, MIJI has become a generic term used to describe any sort of belligerent radio or electronic activity within a wartime environment._


	9. Get Thee Behind Me, Satan

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**Chapter 9 – "Get Thee Behind Me, Satan"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Agent Sarah Walker (CIA): Yvonne Strahovski  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski (USAF): Zachary Levi  
Colonel Padraig al-Fahd (USA): Naveen Andrews  
Captain John Casey (USAF): Adam Baldwin  
Lt. Colonel Rick Valenti (USAF): Tony Shalhoub  
Jill Tanner: Jordana Brewster  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright (USA): Richard Belzer  
General Louisa Beckman (USAF/NSA): Bonita Fredericy  
Agent Carina Hansen (DEA): Mini Anden  
Morgan Grimes: Joshua Gomez

* * *

Two months had passed since the incident over Iraq. Two months since Chuck Bartowski's brain had been MIJI'd. Two months since Colonel al-Fahd had declared that Project Omaha absolutely had to have a leak.

In those two months, Sarah Walker had pored over every scrap of available information related to every single member of the project. She now knew far more about each member than she had ever wanted to. She knew that Captain Casey had a bondage philia. She knew that Colonel Valenti had been treated for the clap – twice. She knew that Chuck Bartowski hadn't lost his virginity until his first semester of college, and that his V-card had been claimed by the back-stabbing Jill Tanner, in the back seat of Chuck's car in Golden Gate Park.

Sarah shook her head. Not only did that last one make her squirm a bit, but she REALLY didn't want to know how the powers that be had gotten that particular bit of information.

The only member of the project that she hadn't really been able to get much information about was Colonel Wainwright, the cause being primarily that he was in the NSA. She didn't trust him whatsoever, but what she could access of his record showed him to be clean.

Sarah Walker could only conclude that Colonel al-Fahd had been wrong. There couldn't have been a leak. It had to have been coincidence.

"I don't believe we have a leak," Sarah informed the Project Omaha team. General Beckman had flown to Iraq for this briefing, which annoyed Sarah. She was of the opinion that Project Omaha was perfectly capable of taking care of its own business, especially since Sarah had been placed in charge of project security.

"If we don't have a leak, then how was Lieutenant Bartowski MIJI'd?" asked Colonel al-Fahd.

"I believe it was simply coincidence," Sarah replied. "From what I can tell, insurgent forces just happened to broadcast an exact series of radio signals in the right sequence. It hasn't happened again since then, which leads me to further believe that there is no pattern to it."

General Beckman snorted. "Hell of a coincidence, Agent Walker," she deadpanned. "You willing to stake your career on that? How about Lieutenant Bartowski's life?"

Sarah sighed. "No, ma'am. Intelligence is never one hundred percent reliable. However, in the intelligence business, we have to take risks – something you should yourself be perfectly aware of."

General Beckman stiffened, and she regarded Sarah through narrowed eyes. "Be that as it may, Agent Walker, I happen to disagree with your assessment. I believe that your team DOES, in fact, have a leak."

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah could see Captain Casey starting to turn purple with rage. He had himself vetted every single member of the team. He had been relieved when Sarah's intelligence had turned up nothing on anybody. Now, though, he had a superior office basically saying that she thought Casey was incompetent.

"I've brought with me my own investigator," Beckman continued. "She's been with the Drug Enforcement Administration for six years. I borrowed her for this investigation because, in those six years, she has led nearly forty investigations into narcotic distribution and sales, and she has achieved desirable results in every single investigation."

The clacking of high heels was heard on the floor of the conference room. Sarah turned and saw a red-haired woman in a form-fitting black business suit walking toward her. To her surprise, Sarah saw Casey roll his eyes and mutter, "Oh, fucking hell."

She arched an eyebrow. She would have to remember to ask him about that.

The red-headed woman reached the front of the room. "Good morning, Agent Walker," she said, in a slightly accented voice. "Carina Hansen, Drug Enforcement Administration."

"So I gathered," Sarah replied, a look of tolerant amusement on her face. "Do tell me, what exactly do you plan to find here that I couldn't?"

Agent Hansen cocked her head and smiled. "Why, a leak, Agent Walker," she shot back. "And believe me when I say, I am ready and willing to use any and all methods to figure out what I need to."

She turned and looked at Captain Casey. "Isn't that right, Johnny?" she asked with a smile.

Casey went from purple with rage to bright red with embarrassment, muttering something that sounded distinctly like, "_Get thee behind me, Satan_," under his breath. Agent Hansen's smile just got a little bigger.

"Anyway, Agent Walker, I expect you'll assist me as needed?"

"I actually have other duties to attend to," Sarah began. "This was just an add-on to my usua-"

"You will do exactly as Agent Hansen tells you," General Beckman interrupted her. "This project is far too high-profile for you to screw around."

Sarah bit her tongue to keep from protesting. She looked pleadingly at Colonel Valenti, who just shrugged and shook his head. There was nothing he could do – General Beckman outranked him.

"Yes, ma'am," she grated.

* * *

**CnCgodMG: **holy shit, chuck! ur actually on!

**USAFnerd4life:** Morgan! Dude! What the hell are you doing up?! Isn't it something like 3:30 in the morning in Los Angeles?

**CnCgodMG:** dude, dont remind me… tang had me stockin till nearly one… i drank like six red bulls, and now im wired…

**USAFnerd4life:** Dang… that's rough. Aside from Harry Tang clearly still being the anti-Christ, how's life?

**CnCgodMG:** kinda sux, dude… i think i lost ellie…

**USAFnerd4life:** …

**USAFnerd4life:** Uh, Morgan, I hate to break this to you, but you never had Ellie. I mean, no offense, you're my best friend and all, but she's never been remotely interested in you. What did you think the "no-touching" agreement of 1998 was all about?

**CnCgodMG:** see, i always thought she was just playin hard 2 get… i thought shed come around eventually

**USAFnerd4life:** Yeah, man, sorry. Anyway, though, what do you mean by "lost" her?

**CnCgodMG:** that guy you know from the air 4ce… the one from the hospital…

**USAFnerd4life:** You mean Devin? Devin Woodcomb?!

**CnCgodMG:** yeah, him… he and ellie sort of hooked up about two months ago… well, seven weeks, four days, and six hours, give or take…

**USAFnerd4life:** Morgan. Seriously. You need to tone down the stalkerism a notch.

**CnCgodMG:** whatever, man… she thinks hes awesome and all that

**USAFnerd4life:** Aw, crap. Morgan, I'm sorry, but I gotta go – there's somebody at the door.

**CnCgodMG:** yeah, dude, no big deal… ill just go wallow in my self-pity

**USAFnerd4life:** Later, man.

* * *

Chuck pulled his door open. Who the hell –

"Hello, Lieutenant Bartowski," said Carina Hansen, pushing the door the rest of the way open. With a smile, she brushed into his quarters.

"Come in, please," Chuck muttered. She ignored his sarcasm.

"Rather spartan feel, don't you think, Lieutenant?" she asked.

Chuck shrugged. "I have my laptops… they've got my music, my movies, my books, my games… what else do I need?"

Carina smiled deviously. "Do they have your porn as well, Lieutenant?"

Chuck cocked his head to the side. "If they do, that's none of your business."

"Oh, but if I'm investigating every aspect of every team member, it IS my business," Carina replied coyly. "For example, Lieutenant, I happen to know that you and your fiancée have a weekly webcam meeting where you both get naked and masturb-"

"STOP," Chuck angrily ordered the DEA agent. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

The smile disappeared from Carina's face. "I think I'm a federal agent who's been ordered to investigate a serious leak in a top secret program, Lieutenant," she snapped. "Now, I expect you to cooperate with this investigation however I need you to."

Chuck shook his head. "Why the hell am I being investigated, though?" he replied. "After all, I'm the one whose head got screwed with."

Carina sighed and rolled her eyes. "Do you read novels?"

"Here and there," Chuck replied. "Why?"

"Have you ever read Dale Brown's _Day of the Cheetah_?"

Chuck narrowed his eyes. "Yes. What does that have to do with anything?"

Carina smiled again. "Ken James, Lieutenant Bartowski," she said. "Does that answer your question?"

Chuck couldn't believe what he had just heard. He was being compared to the fictional subject of a fictional top secret program who had turned out to be a fictional Soviet spy. "You really think that I'm putting my own life in jeopardy to spy on Project Omaha?" he asked angrily.

Carina's smile got a little bigger. "Not really," she replied. "I just happen to think you're cute, I like a man in uniform, and hell, investigating you gave me an excuse to come see you."

Chuck's jaw dropped. "You are a seriously disturbed individual," he breathed.

Carina crossed the room to him. She stood right in front of Chuck, their faces bare inches apart. Her eyes stared into his, and he could feel the gentle exhalation of her breath on his lips. "_You have no idea, Lieutenant Bartowski_," she whispered.

She backed away and headed for the door. "I'll be back, though," she promised him, a coquettish smile on her face. She pulled the door open and started to exit –

"Wait," Chuck said, stopping her. She looked back, a hopeful look on her face. "Why did Captain Casey say, 'Get thee behind me, Satan,' earlier?"

Disappointment appeared on Carina's face. "Ask him what happened in Prague."

* * *

"Freebird-One to tower… we are ready for takeoff and awaiting clearance."

"_Freebird-One_, _please stand by_."

Chuck was back in the WSO's seat in the EF-111 Raven. Captain Casey stared out the windshield – and it was clear he wasn't himself. He had barely spoken during the checklists, only calling out responses and items.

"Everything alright, Captain?" Chuck asked him.

"It's fine, Lieutenant," Casey replied, continuing to look out the windshield.

"_Freebird-One, you are cleared for takeoff._"

Casey grunted a "Copy" and pushed the throttles forward. The EF-111 jumped down the runway, but when it took nearly a half mile for the electronic warfare bird to leave the runway, Chuck knew that Casey was not entirely there.

When they reached cruising altitude, Chuck decided that something had to be done. "Wizzo has the aircraft," he declared, shaking the control column.

"Yeah, sure," Casey responded lackadaisically.

Chuck shook his head. Without looking to his side, Chuck asked, "Captain, what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing, Lieutenant," Casey practically growled.

"All due respect, SIR, but bullshit," Chuck shot back. "From the moment Agent Hansen walked in the room yesterday morning, you have definitely NOT been yourself. I mean, what was that 'Get thee behind me, Satan' comment all about?"

"It wasn't about anything, Chuck," Casey snapped.

Chuck exhaled forcefully. "What happened in Prague?"

Casey's head snapped around to face Chuck. "Who the HELL told you anything about Prague?"

"Agent Hansen told me to ask you," Chuck replied. "So what the HELL happened in Prague?"

Casey sighed. It was clear he wasn't getting out of it. "1999," he began. "My wing was involved with the Kosovo strikes. We were given a weekend off, and all of us went to Prague.

"There had been a real problem with intelligence leaks with our wing, and the powers that be were trying to figure out what was going on," Casey continued. "One of the investigators that they brought in was Agent Hansen. She acted as sort of a combination honey trap and canary trap, going undercover in a Prague bar that about half of us went to.

"She used this accent and played the part of a very convincing, very attractive Czech woman named Katrina. For whatever reason, I was the unwitting target of her deception the first night we were there. She got me to take her back to my hotel, where she fucked me senseless, and then left me handcuffed to my bed."

Casey sighed again. "My squadron leader found me there the next morning, still handcuffed to the bed, boxers around my ankles, exposed to the whole world. My informal callsign for the rest of the time I was with the wing was 'Handcuffs'.

"Anyway, I found out who she really was a month later, when they discovered who the leak was and briefed the rest of us. Needless to say, I was pissed, and I managed to corner her after the briefing, whereupon I ripped her a new one. But…"

Chuck smiled. "No, don't tell me, let me guess. She managed to charm you into bed and handcuffs again."

"Like I said, 'Get thee behind me, Satan'," Casey replied.

Chuck laughed, but then his smile faded. "Uh, pilot, take the aircraft," he said.

"Pilot has the aircraft," Casey replied automatically, shaking the control stick. "You got something?"

"I think so," Chuck said uncertainly, adjusting a knob on his radio set. "Give me a sec-"

_A bombed out train. A dismembered bull terrier. A grinning terrorist firing an AK-47 into the air. A man conferring with Osama bin Laden. An apple pie._

Chuck snapped out of the flash. "Ho-ly SHIT," he breathed. He reached out and hit the button to give him an encrypted radio link to the command center onboard the orbiting E-3C Sentry aircraft, forty miles away.

"Freebird-One to Skyeye," Chuck said. "Skyeye, do you copy?"

"_This is Skyeye,_" he heard. "_Delta four tango._"

Chuck grabbed his code book off of EF-111's control panel. Flipping to March 17th, he looked down the page to find D4T –

"Foxtrot uniform niner," he replied, finding the code.

"_Freebird-One verified_," the controller onboard the E-3C said. "_What's the situation?_"

"I've got a location for Ayman al-Zawahiri," Chuck replied.

"_Holy shit,_" the controller breathed involuntarily. "_Uh, I mean, stand by._"

"Copy," Chuck said.

The controller's link was still live, and Chuck could hear him in the background. "_Uh, General, sir, the Intersect seems to have a location for al-Zawahiri!_"

Chuck looked over at Casey. "The 'Intersect'?"

Casey shrugged. "I have no idea."

A different voice came on the radio. "_Lieutenant Bartowski, are you sure on this?_"

"As sure as I can be, sir," Chuck said.

"_Alright. Tell me everything you know._"

* * *

_**Author's Note:  
**__1) _Day of the Cheetah_ was written in 1989 by novelist Dale Brown. Set in 1996, it was about a top secret Air Force project that was infiltrated and eventually destroyed by a KGB mole, USAF Captain Kenneth James. You can see more about the book at www _● _megafortress _● _com._

_2) In March of 2004, intelligence was generated that led the government of Pakistan to believe that Dr. Ayman al-Zawahiri, leader of Egyptian Islamic Jihad and second-in-command of Al-Qaida was hiding in Waziristan, Pakistan. On March 18__th__, the Pakistani Army surrounded an Al-Qaida encampment in Waziristan; however, al-Zawahiri was not discovered there. As of this writing (28 September 2008), he is still at large._


	10. Not What It Looks Like

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER TEN: "Not What It Looks Like"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Captain John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Agent Carina Hansen – Mini Anden  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski

* * *

_**Author's note: **__This chapter contains some, shall we say, rather mature, though not explicit, content. Reader discretion is advised._

* * *

For three weeks, John Casey had been on edge. Three weeks of looking around every corner, of watching his back. Three weeks of praying that SHE wouldn't come hunting for him.

At first, he had thought that maybe, just MAYBE, he was going to get off easy. At first, she had focused her attention on Chuck Bartowski.

But he had rebuffed her not once, not twice, but three times. Casey wasn't sure how the young lieutenant had done it – it took some serious willpower to say "No" to Carina Hansen three times.

Now that Chuck HAD done so, however, Carina was angry and on the prowl. None of the men at what had been dubbed "Camp Omaha" seemed to feel safe when she was around. Colonels Valenti, al-Fahd, and Wainwright, along with Doctor Novak, always seemed to make excuses to not be around her – leaving Casey as the lone minnow in the pool of bloody water, trying to avoid the hungry shark from the DEA.

One warm April afternoon, Casey had taken refuge in the cockpit of Camp Omaha's EF-111. He thought that he'd be safe there, hiding fifteen feet above the ground, slouched down in the pilot's seat, reading tech manuals. He thought that there was no way she'd ever find him.

As he was refreshing his knowledge of the EF-111's radar-jamming system, he felt the plane shift a little bit – a clear sign of somebody climbing into the WSO's station of the EF-111. Assuming it was Chuck, he said, "You running away from her too, Bartowski?"

There was no answer for a moment. Casey set his tech manual down, and turned his attention toward the WSO's station. "Cat got your tongue, Bart – JESUS GOD IN HEAVEN!"

Carina Hansen smiled coquettishly at Casey. "Not quite," she responded sweetly.

Casey looked at Carina. She was wearing a flight suit, unzipped practically to her navel, and judging by the amount of skin Casey could see, she was wearing precisely nothing else.

Casey gulped, and willed a serious look on his face. "Just what do you think you're doing here?" he asked, cursing his voice as it cracked on the last word.

Carina looked amused at Casey's voice. "I thought now would be an opportune time for me to… question… you," she replied suggestively, raising an eyebrow.

"I see." Casey bit the two words off, trying not to let his voice betray anything further.

Carina leaned across the cockpit. Casey's eyes involuntarily wandered downward, looking down Carina's flight suit, where he could pretty much see –

"Captain Casey," Carina said in a low, sultry voice. His eyes snapped back up to her face, just in time to watch her lick her lips. "Have you ever… revealed any secrets of Project Omaha to anybody without clearance?"

Now Casey was just confused. His brain was having a very difficult time juxtaposing the damn sexy tone of Carina's voice and actions with the utterly serious subject of the question she had just asked her. "Uh…"

Her smile grew a little wider. "John," she said, reaching out a hand and delicately running a finger along his jaw, "if there's anything you know about the leak, you absolutely have to tell me."

Right at that moment, she probably could've convinced Casey to confess to kidnapping the Lindbergh baby and killing John F. Kennedy, not to mention telling her where Jimmy Hoffa was buried, but the truth of the matter was that he knew nothing about the leak. "It's not me," he croaked.

Carina's gaze turned from sultry to amused. "John, I didn't ask you if it was YOU," she said. "I asked you if you knew anything."

He shook his head and bit his lip, forcing himself not to look at the federal seductress – AGENT! "Nothing," he said shortly.

"How about Lieutenant Bartowski?" Carina asked. "He has proven a… bit of a tough nut to crack, if you will. And speaking of tough nuts…"

John's eyes widened, and he involuntarily shuddered. Looking away from Carina had proven to be a mistake, as her hand had found its way to his crotch. As she ran her hand over the outside of his flight suit, he bit his tongue and prayed for mercy.

"Captain Casey, do you really not know anything?"

"I… I don't know anything," Casey gasped. Carina's hand had not moved from its position, but was rather making a slow, circular movement that – _Oh GOD_, Casey thought, willing himself to preserve his last modicum of control.

Carina frowned and pouted, sticking her bottom lip out. "Damn," she said. "This whole trip has been a waste of time, then."

Casey, grateful for the removal of her hand from his pelvis, leaned his head to the side. "What do you mean, the whole trip has been a waste of time?"

She shrugged, the pout still on her face. "I mean that if you don't know anything, there's no point in me trying to seduce you."

_Thank GOD_, Casey thought, exhaling – and then stopping himself short as a smile made of pure evil painted itself on Carina's face.

"Of course," she purred, "I could just seduce you for the hell of it."

"Aw, crap," Casey uttered. His mouth opened to say the word _NO_, but before he could get it out, Carina had slipped the flight suit from her shoulders, leaving her sitting across from Casey, topless.

"There's just too much space between us," she said, shifting across to the pilot's seat. Facing Casey, she sat on his lap. "Oh MY, Captain Casey," she gasped in mock surprise as she sat in his lap. "It seems that PART of you wants to tell me something…"

_Oh, I am so screwed_, Casey thought, gritting his teeth. _I need to tell her to stop. I need to tell her to get off of me and get out of my airplane. I need to tell her…_

But Carina unzipped Casey's flight suit to his waist, and he knew the battle was lost. "Just, no handcuffs this time, please," he moaned.

"Oh, but WHERE is the fun in that?" Carina shot back, reaching a hand inside his flight suit.

"Pleeeeeease…"

* * *

Chuck Bartowski strolled across the flight line, Sarah Walker at his side. He had promised to explain to her the workings of the EF-111, in exchange for her teaching him how to shoot – "Well, I would say, not like a girl," he had said with a smile, "but I think you might object to that."

She had agreed to their deal, although she had mock-seriously made him promise to never denigrate the shooting skills of women again. "I will have you know that I can field dress a moose in ten minutes," she told him.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Like THAT skill will ever come in handy."

But right at the moment, thoughts of guns were put aside for a seven hundred million dollar aircraft that was completely unarmed, save for its electronics. "Okay," Chuck said, "this particular EF-111 actually started life as an F-111B prototype for the Navy. When the Navy decided that the F-111 would never work as a carrier aircraft, they parked it at the Boneyard for a couple years."

Sarah frowned. "The Boneyard – that's in Arizona, right?"

"Davis-Monthan Air Force Base," Chuck confirmed. "Where all military aircraft – good and bad – eventually go to die. But not this one. The Air Force started the EF-111 conversion program in the seventies, they rapidly ran out of airframes that weren't actually being used as fighter-bombers, so they pulled this and another Navy test article out of Davis-Monthan for conversion."

"So, is there really a difference between this one and one that was converted from an Air Force model F-111?" Sarah asked.

Chuck shook his head. "Not really, although according to Captain Casey, this one can actually safely take off from and land on an aircraft carrier."

"Might be a useful skill," Sarah suggested.

Chuck laughed. "If I was ever in a situation where my choices were land on an aircraft carrier or ditch, I think I'd choose the latter," he replied. "The thought of landing an aircraft on a thousand-foot long steel postage stamp makes me want to curl up in the corner and cry."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Wimp."

Chuck sighed. "Yeah, well. I might not have a choice if I'm going to keep flying ELINT missions for Project Omaha – this is the last active EF-111. They're all being replaced by modified F/A-18s."

By now they had reached the Raven. "You climb up into the pilot's station," Chuck said to Sarah. "I can explain everything to you from the wizzo's side."

"The what now?" Sarah asked, crossing under the old aircraft to the ladder going up to the pilot's station.

"Wizzo," Chuck replied. "It stands for W S O – weapons systems officer."

"I thought the EF-111 didn't have weapons," Sarah said, starting to ascend the ladder.

"It doesn't," Chuck admitted. "It's just a holdover from the original F-111s. They never thought of something quite as snappy to call – GOOD GOD!"

Chuck and Sarah had reached the level of the cockpit at the same time – just in time for them to share the experience of a truly horrific sight.

There was Captain John Casey, sitting in the pilot's seat of the aircraft, his flight suit around his knees. On top of him, completely naked – "and bouncing up and down like a Pogo stick," Sarah would remark later – was DEA Agent Carina Hansen.

"Aw, COME ON!" Chuck groaned.

"That's… exactly… what I'm trying to do… here… Bartowski," Casey grunted.

"IN THE PLANE, CAPTAIN?!" Chuck said, horrified.

"You… could've prevented all this, Lieutenant!" Carina moaned. "But you wouldn't give in!"

"That's it," Chuck snapped. "I am SO out of here."

He scrambled back down the ladder, reaching the ground just as Sarah did. "Unbelievable!" he said, shaking his head in disgust.

Sarah, on the other hand, was giggling like a little girl. "I cannot believe I just saw that," she replied.

Chuck looked at her curiously. "Aren't you a CIA super-operative? Trained to use sex if need be?"

"Hah!" Sarah laughed, making a face. "It's a tactic of last resort, Chuck! You've watched too many Bond films!"

And as much as Chuck wanted to counter Sarah's argument, he had no comeback. "Fine," he grumbled. "So now what?"

"Well, I believe you still owe me an explanation of the EF-111's systems," Sarah replied.

Chuck stopped on the flight line and turned to look at the CIA agent. "In case you missed it, there's an Air Force captain and a DEA agent wildly copulating in the cockpit of my bird," he grumbled.

Sarah shook her head. "And you don't have any tech manuals, any stuff on your computer that you can use to explain it to me?"

Chuck raised an eyebrow. He hadn't even considered that. "Yeah," he said. "I actually could explain everything to you."

"Then let's GO," Sarah ordered him, marching off toward the barracks.

Chuck sighed. "Okay," he said to her back, running to catch up.

In his quarters, Chuck pulled up identical tech manuals on both of his laptops. "Okay, this may seem boring at first, but I've got a simulator on the Mac that you can play around a bit with," he told Sarah.

"Sounds good to me," she replied.

Forty minutes later, Sarah was looking bored. Yeah, everything she had learned so far was interesting, but there was only so much geeky techno-babble she could take. "I would never make it through this stuff," she groaned.

Chuck smiled. "I've got a secret," he replied. "I cheated a bit."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "How so?"

Chuck grinned broadly. "I got Doctor Novak to encode every op order and manual for the EF-111 as subliminal data and then upload it to me."

Sarah couldn't believe she had just heard the Air Force lieutenant admit to short-circuiting procedure, but she couldn't help but be a little impressed by the initiative he had taken. "That's probably not entirely within regulations," she told him, a note of reproach in her voice.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Rules and regulations were made to be broken. I'm sure you've broken your fair share, Miss CIA."

Coming from most people, that would've offended Sarah. But coming from Chuck, it for some reason just amused her. "I have NO idea what you're talking about," she replied, mock-snootily, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Did you just stick your tongue out at me?" he asked her, pretending to be shocked.

She didn't say anything, just sticking her tongue out further in response. "FINE," he growled. "But you should've prepared yourself to face the consequences!"

Chuck leapt out of his chair and much to Sarah's surprise, started tickling her. She shrieked and tried to back away, accomplishing nothing but knocking her chair over backward. She shrieked even louder as she started to fall, but only made it about halfway to the floor before Chuck reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her upright.

"Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "I'm not quite sure what got into me."

Sarah shook her head. "That was a bad, bad idea, Lieutenant Bartowski," she told him in a stern voice.

"Oh yeah? And why might that be?"

"Because you just uncorked a BIG can of whupass!" Chuck's jaw dropped, and then Sarah tackled him, knocking him backward onto his bed.

"Son of a bitch!" he uttered, as Sarah launched a tickle attack on him that seemed to Chuck to be an inordinately disproportionate response for what he had done. That thought fled from his head, though, as the tickling started to get to him.

Before long, he was laughing hysterically. "Uncle!" he shouted. "Mercy! Whatever! CIA rules!"

Sarah stopped and stood up. "And don't you EVER forget it," she shot back.

Chuck shook his head. "God," he moaned. "I think you broke me. I can't move."

Sarah laughed and rolled her eyes. "Awww. The poor wittwe baby. Does you need your mommy?"

Chuck stuck his tongue out at her. "NOW WHO'S BEING IMMATURE?!" Sarah shouted gleefully.

"Oh, BRING IT," Chuck shot back.

"Yes, absolutely," Sarah said, "because we're fourteen."

"Oh, THAT'S IT!" Chuck roared, leaping from the bed. Sarah squeaked and jumped backwards – and found herself with her back to the wall. Chuck cornered her, putting an arm on either side of her. "Nowhere to go, Agent Walker!"

Sarah, though, had lost her train of thought. She realized that Chuck Bartowski was very close to her. EXTREMELY close to her. His face was scant inches from his. As she watched, the mischievous smile dropped from his face, replaced by an odd mix of confusion and desire.

_This is an extraordinarily bad idea_, her brain told her. And it was a very, very bad idea. But Sarah Walker didn't care. She saw the look on Chuck Bartowski's face – the desire, the need.

And when she placed a hand behind Chuck's head and pulled him in to kiss him, he didn't object. Rather, he put his hands behind Sarah's back, and pulled her as close to him as he could.

Chuck kissed Sarah, and then moved downward. He gently kissed her neck, up back by her ear, causing her to arch her neck and moan softly. He kept moving downward, kissing her collarbone, kissing her chest, unbuttoning her shirt as he went.

"Oh my God," she moaned. "Yes, you can certainly keep doing that."

Sarah shrugged her now unbuttoned shirt from her shoulders. Chuck kissed her stomach, right above her navel, as he reached up to unclasp her bra. "Goddammit," he muttered against her stomach as he struggled with the clasp.

She giggled as his lips vibrated against her stomach. "That tickles a little bit," she said softly.

Chuck didn't say anything, but Sarah could feel his lips move upward into a smile as the offending piece of lingerie came undone and fell off her body. Chuck began to move back upwards.

When he came back to eye level with Sarah, they kissed again, and then she reached down and unbuckled his belt. Pulling it off, she began to undo his uniform pants – and then she felt his body go stiff.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice breathy, her eyes fluttering open.

As she watched, the confusion returned to his face, accompanied by a look of disappointment in his eyes. "I – I'm sorry," he said, backing away from Sarah. "I just – I can't."

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed. "Trish?"

Chuck nodded, looking uncomfortable, and turned away. "Yeah."

Sarah bit her lip, forcing herself to not cry out in frustration. She didn't say anything, just reached to the floor and picked up her discarded bra and shirt. She put them back on, and then, without another word to Chuck, walked out the door –

Only to run into Carina Hansen, who was strutting through the hallway with the rumpled clothing and mussed hair that were clear post-sex indicators. She froze on seeing Sarah emerge from Chuck's quarters, and a look of awe and amusement painted itself on Carina's face.

"Well, Agent Walker, I guess you were able to do what I could not," Carina said, sounding impressed.

Sarah shook her head and sighed. "It's not what it looks like."

"Of course not," Carina replied with a laugh. "It never is with the CIA… is it?"

Carina began to walk away, and Sarah stared after her. "What the hell does that mean?" she asked angrily.

Carina shook her head, but didn't look back. "You'll figure it out, Agent Walker. You'll figure it out."


	11. Terminal Flight

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER 11 – **"Terminal Flight"

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Captain John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd – Naveen Andrews  
Colonel Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright – Richard Belzer  
Agent Carina Hansen – Mini Anden  
General Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Director Arthur Graham – Tony Todd

* * *

Chuck Bartowski had spent some time in Palm Springs during the summer once. He thought THAT was hot.

After spending June in Iraq, he imagined that he would never think of the Coachella Valley as hot ever again. Iraq made Phoenix look like the North Pole, as far as Chuck was concerned.

And the heat affected more than just the people who were unlucky enough to be stuck in Iraq. It also affected their weapons, their machinery.

Not even a certain Grumman EF-111 Raven was immune from the heat. And so Captain John Casey found himself worriedly watching the thermostat on the port Pratt & Whitney TF30-P-9 turbofan. The heat in that engine had been steadily climbing since their patrol began, and even though they were only about twenty minutes from landing, if that engine died now, they could be in serious trouble.

"Chuck, what time did Colonel Valenti tell us we had to be back at base by?" Casey asked.

"1630," Chuck replied. "We've got about forty minutes."

"Good," Casey said. "I'm gonna cut our speed by about one hundred knots, see if I can't get the number two engine to calm down."

Chuck snorted. "I like that plan, especially since I'm the one sitting right in front of it."

"Pansy," Casey cracked.

"Shut up, Casey."

Casey slowly throttled back the two engines, reducing the Raven's speed to just above 500 knots. Sure enough, the thermostat on the #2 engine very slowly began to drop. Casey breathed a sigh of relief, and swept the variable-geometry wings all the way out to reduce the risk of a stall –

And without warning, the temperature on the #2 engine spiked. There was a loud BANG, and an alarming vibration began to shake the aircraft.

"Aw, SHIT," Casey groaned.

"Casey, we got a fire on number two!" Chuck shouted worriedly.

"Yeah, no shit, Bartowski," Casey snapped back. "Pull the fire bottle, and then prepare to get out."

Chuck's jaw dropped, and he looked at Casey. "You're kidding!"

"No, I'm very fucking well not kidding, Bartowski! Now pull the goddamn fire bottle!"

Chuck nodded and turned back toward his console. Reaching out, he grabbed the T-handle for the number two engine, pulled, and twisted. A second later, every gauge for the number two engine dropped to zero, including the thermostat.

"Alright," Casey said. "Fire's out, but we've only got one engine."

"Yeah, and I think something went boom," Chuck muttered.

Casey looked at him in alarm. "What? Why?"

"We're rapidly losing fuel out of the port tank," Chuck replied.

"Goddammit," Casey grunted. "Shut down the tank-to-tank transfer and get on the horn to the camp. Tell 'em we're comin' in hot and low."

"Yes, sir," Chuck responded automatically, hitting the switches to shut down the port-side fuel tank. "Freebird-One to Camp Omaha," he said, keying his microphone. "Declaring in-flight emergency. We've got the number two engine out, port side fuel tank is hulled and nearly empty. We're coming in hot and low."

* * *

Sarah Walker was sitting at her workstation in the headquarters building when the alarms started going off. She looked up in surprise – she hadn't heard the alarms except in drill situations, and they always told her about the drills.

"_Attention all personnel,_" she heard Colonel Valenti's voice say over the P.A. "_Freebird-One has suffered an in-flight engine failure. All personnel need to report to rescue stations IMMEDIATELY._"

Sarah's jaw dropped, and she felt like she had been punched in the gut. Chuck Bartowski was onboard Freebird-One, and despite the awkwardness that had resulted from their near-miss back in April, their friendship was closer than ever.

"Fuck," she whispered, standing to her feet. She dashed for the door, headed for the garage. They had practiced aircraft crash drills a number of times, and Sarah's duty station was behind the wheel of the base ambulance.

She reached the garage just as Colonel al-Fahd got there. "Is this for real, Colonel?" she asked worriedly.

"I'm afraid so," he replied, his accent sounding thicker than usual. "The ambulance is loaded, yes?"

Sarah shook her head. "I have no idea, sir. I haven't inventoried it in two weeks, but unless we've had people breaking into it, it should still be fully stocked."

Colonel al-Fahd looked at Sarah in disbelief. "Agent Walker, the ambulance should be inventoried every other DAY."

"Well, sir, with all due respect, nobody told me that," Sarah snapped. "Besides which, I'm a CIA agent. I have things to DO with my time."

As she spoke, Colonel Valenti walked into the garage. "Very fucking good for you, Agent Walker," he snapped. "Get the hell in the ambulance. Colonel al-Fahd, move your ass."

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison. Valenti had been promoted to full colonel at the end of May, and so now, he was Padraig al-Fahd's superior officer as well as his commanding officer.

Sarah got behind the wheel of the 1970s era GMC ambulance and turned the key in the ignition. The Chevy 505 large block V8 fired up immediately. "Buckle up," she ordered al-Fahd, tuning the radio to the tower frequency as she drove the ambulance out toward the flight line.

"_Freebird-One, state your position._"

"_Uh, base, we are approximately ten miles out… five hundred feet, um, but we're in bad shape up here. I think we suffered some damage to the horizontal stabilizer – when I drop the speed below about two hundred knots, I get a wicked shimmy, and I'm afraid if I drop the speed too low, I'll lose control._"

John Casey's voice was controlled, but he sounded scared. The sound of his voice made Sarah's stomach constrict.

Then she heard Colonel Wainwright's voice on the radio. "_Freebird-One, you have a landing hook, correct?_"

"_Roger that, base._"

"_Freebird-One, we are going to deploy a trap-wire across the end of the runway. When you reach one mile out, drop your hook and attempt to catch the wire._"

* * *

Casey looked over at Chuck, who looked back at him in disbelief. "Uh, yes, sir."

Casey shook his head and switched off his microphone. "Well, Bartowski, you wondered what it would be like to land on an aircraft carrier – you're about to find out!"

"Bloody lovely," Chuck replied dryly.

"I'm not saying it's gonna be successful," Casey warned him. "We're going in at nearly twice the normal landing speed for a 111. If the tailhook skips over the trap wire, I'm gonna punch the throttles and get us as much altitude as I can before number one flames out. When the engine flames out, and not before, we will eject. Clear?"

"Got it," Chuck replied, unconsciously tightening his safety harness.

Casey took a deep breath, and turned his microphone back on. "Base, this is Freebird-One. We have you on visual."

* * *

Sarah's fingers were now wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel of the ambulance that her knuckles were white. The engine rumbled at idle, ready to take off as soon as the elint bird touched down.

She sat at the far end of the runway from the trap wire, waiting with the other emergency vehicles. She could barely see the trap wire, nearly two miles away, through the shimmering heat coming off of the runway.

"_Base, this is Freebird-One. We have you on visual._"

Sarah's eyes widened. Grabbing a pair of binoculars, she looked toward the sky above the end of the runway – and there was the EF-111. "Oh my God," she said, taking a deep breath.

Colonel al-Fahd looked at her in alarm. "What is it?" he asked.

Sarah didn't say anything, but just handed him the binoculars. He took them, looking toward the EF-111. "Oh, Christ," he muttered crossing himself. Reaching out, he grabbed the microphone on the radio. "Base, this is Unit 4077," he declared. "One of the tires on Freebird-One's port landing gear is completely shredded."

There was silence for a moment, and then Captain Casey's shocked voice came over the radio. "_Say again, 4077?!_"

"You've got a busted tire," al-Fahd replied simply. "It looks like you had an explosion in your port engine, and I'm guessing some shrapnel ripped into that tire."

"_Fucking shit!_" Casey swore over the radio.

"_Freebird-One, cool it!_" Colonel Wainwright's voice sounded angrily over the radio. "_Here's the deal. You need to keep the right hand side of that bird up for as long as you can after you touch down. Put as little pressure on the one good tire as possible, and pray for the best._"

"_Thank you for your encouraging words, sir,_" Casey responded, sarcasm evident in his voice.

* * *

Casey shook his head. "Alright, Bartowski, I want you to get out. I'll try to land the plane, but you need to get the hell out."

"Absolutely not!" Chuck exclaimed. "There is no POSSIBLE way that I'm ejecting and leaving you here."

Casey smiled to himself. That's why he hadn't told Chuck to eject. The word "EJECT" would've evoked an immediate response from Chuck – pull the handle. However, saying "Get out" would give Chuck the choice, and he'd chosen to stay.

"Alright, then," Casey grunted. "Your funeral."

"Thanks, Captain," Chuck deadpanned. "Just land this damn thing already, alright?"

The runway was now right in front of them, approaching rapidly. "Alright," Casey muttered. "Here we go."

The Raven's tail dropped toward the ground, and Chuck felt the tailhook catch the trap wire. It jerked back violently on the aircraft – and then there was a horrendous screech, followed by an immediate release of pressure.

"Oh FUCK!" Casey shouted. "We lost the tailhook!"

He immediately pushed the throttles to full, forgetting that engine number two was dead. Engine number one cycled up to full, but when engine number two tried to spin up, it simply caused the afterburner to backfire.

The EF-111 started bucking uncontrollably, and the portside landing strut crashed to the ground. The tire lasted for all of three seconds before blowing out, and the strut began digging into the concrete.

Casey immediately cut the throttles to zero, and tried to keep steering the plane down the runway as it slowed, but the friction on the strut was just too much. It snapped off, and the wingtip dropped, digging into the sand.

In a panic, Casey swept the wings back as far as they would go, trying to reduce lift and keep the wing from digging into the sand, but the EF-111 had already started to turn in a circle. The stress of the speed was too much for the starboard landing gear strut, and it too snapped off, causing the Raven's tail end to crash to the concrete in a shower of sparks.

* * *

Sarah Walker watched in horror as the EF-111 crash-landed. It seemed to almost happen in slow motion. First, the tailhook tore off. Then, the portside afterburner shot out a gout of flame, followed by the portside landing gear strut collapsing. The wingtip dug into the sand, and even though Casey pulled the wings back, the starboard gear strut still couldn't take it.

She cringed as the tail of the Raven fell toward the runway, fully expecting some sort of explosion. All that happened was a shower of sparks, but the ELINT bird was still spinning uncontrollably, and could start cartwheeling at any second.

"God help them," Colonel al-Fahd whispered, watching the slowing Raven wide-eyed.

Miraculously, it stayed on the ground, and finally ground to a halt, the airframe twisted beyond repair. As soon as it stopped, Sarah put the ambulance into drive and hit the gas, the rear dually tires spinning as she did so. The ambulance shot forward, covering the ground between the end of the runway and the crashed EF-111 in a matter of seconds.

She screeched to a halt a hundred feet away from the bird. Putting the ambulance into park, she leaped out, followed closely by Colonel al-Fahd. As they approached the EF-111, the canopy slowly opened upward, and as she watched, Chuck and Casey both scrambled out of the aircraft as if it was on fire.

Despite the speed and alacrity with which they evacuated the aircraft, they both appeared to be pretty badly banged up. Casey was limping and bleeding from his left temple, and Chuck was cradling his right arm. Nonetheless, they appeared to be in much better shape than what was left of the EF-111, which the fire crew had now started liberally coating in fire-suppressant foam.

"CHUCK!" Sarah shouted as she ran toward him. "CHUCK!"

He smiled slightly as she approached, and carefully lowered his right arm. He knew that she was likely going to wrap him in a bear hug, and didn't want his arm to be hurt any worse than it already was.

Sure enough, the moment she reached him, she threw her arms around him, embracing him tightly. "Oh my God," she whispered. "I thought… I thought that you were going to…"

Chuck laughed, wincing at a brand new pain in his gut. "It takes more than a bad engine to get rid of me," he replied.

Sarah sighed and looked up at him. "Are you alright?"

"IS HE ALRIGHT?!" Casey bellowed. "I WAS THE ONE FLYING THE GODDAMN PLANE!"

Behind her, Sarah could hear Colonel al-Fahd chuckle. "If you'd like a hug, Captain, I'm sure that can be arranged."

"No thank you, sir," Casey replied sarcastically.

Sarah felt a hand on her shoulder. "Agent Walker, as glad as I'm sure you are that Lieutenant Bartowski is still in operating condition, we really do need to get him into the ambulance," Colonel al-Fahd said softly.

She nodded, and let go of Chuck. "Drive slowly, okay, Sarah?" Chuck joked, wincing again and clutching his stomach.

Colonel al-Fahd noticed that, and raised an eyebrow. "Alright, Lieutenant, let's go."

* * *

"Sabotage."

Carina Hansen hissed the word like the imprecation it was, and tossed a chunk of metal onto the conference room table. "A screwdriver, placed inside the number two engine in such a fashion that when it was throttled down, the screwdriver would come loose and wreak havoc."

A shocked silence filled the room. Carina looked around the room, staring into each person's eyes with such intensity and fury that when she reached Chuck Bartowski, he was almost ready to stand up and declare his guilt.

That might have had something to do with the amount of morphine in his system – he had suffered a broken arm and a hernia – but he wasn't sure. Carina could be pretty intimidating, after all. He raised his good arm. "Who would sabotage the plane?"

"Somebody who wants Project Omaha to fail, Lieutenant," Colonel Valenti said with a sigh. "Agent Hansen, I'm sure you're right, but you've been here for three months and you have yet to find the leak. How are we supposed to figure out who did this?"

Carina shook her head. "I have to continue my investigation, sir – and I'm gonna need UNFETTERED access to ALL the information on everybody in this room."

"_Agent Hansen, that's impossible, and you know it!_" the voice of General Beckman angrily snapped. She and Director Graham were participating in the briefing via video-conference. "_There are people in this room with portfolios classified above even my clearance!_"

"Then, ma'am, with all due respect, you need to get those people OFF this team," Carina shot back.

Beckman shook her head. "_That's not possible_."

Carina didn't say anything, rather just shaking her head. "_If nobody else has anything useful to contribute, then I have work that I have to do_," General Beckman said. "_Dismissed._"

Carina stalked out of the room. Sarah helped Chuck stand up, and slowly walked him out of the room. The rest of the personnel trickled out of the room behind them.

Nobody noticed that Lieutenant Colonel Wainwright stayed behind, pulling out his cell phone. He opened it and dialed a number.

"Hello, Agent Larkin," he said when the phone was answered. "Thank you for those tech orders on the TF30-P-9." A thin, evil smile appeared on Wainwright's face. "They proved… most useful."


	12. The StratoPig Cometh

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER 12: "The StratoPig Cometh"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Captain John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright – Richard Belzer  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Agent Carina Hansen – Mini Anden  
Colonel Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd – Naveen Andrews  
Dr. Thomas Novak – Jonathan Frakes

* * *

Ever since the EF-111 had crash-landed on the runway at Camp Omaha, Chuck Bartowski's life had become… well, somewhat boring. First he had been put on light duty for four weeks to allow his arm and his hernia to heal. The last two weeks, they had allowed him to start going out on reconnaissance missions again… in an M2 Bradley. "Barrel of monkeys," he sarcastically remarked upon returning from his first Bradley patrol.

Everybody knew that in reality, the best use of Chuck's mental acumen would be in an airborne environment. It would be easier to collect radio, and possibly video, intelligence from an aircraft. However, the United States Air Force was rather hesitant to give Project Omaha another aircraft. After all, the EF-111 that had crashed HAD been the last one of its kind, and it WAS a seven hundred million dollar aircraft. "Irreplaceable" was a word that Chuck heard get tossed around quite a bit.

The inspiration began to come to Chuck piecemeal. The first bit happened when he was out on a patrol in the Bradley with Colonel Wainwright and Captain Casey. They happened upon a crashed Panavia Tornado – a British fighter-bomber. The crew had ejected and been rescued nearly a month beforehand, but they hadn't been able to spot where the aircraft had gone down. "Let's go take a look," Chuck had said.

Though he was the junior officer in the Bradley, both Wainwright and Casey tended to take Chuck's suggestions fairly seriously, and so Casey aimed the Bradley at the wreckage of the Tornado. Two minutes later, Chuck was clambering out of the armored personnel carrier.

He walked around the crashed fighter slowly, examining it carefully. Stepping up to the nose of the aircraft, he pulled a Gerber multi-tool out of his flight suit and popped out the Allen wrench attachment. Fitting it into one of the hex nuts on the Tornado's radome, he began to unscrew the fitting. He carefully worked around the nose of the aircraft until he had completely unfastened the radome.

"CASEY!" he called. The Air Force captain perked his head up. "Can you come give me a hand with this?"

Casey jumped out of the Bradley and jogged over to the younger man. "Just keep hold of the tip of the radome," Chuck told him. "I want to pull this straight off."

Confused, Casey nonetheless did as Chuck said. "Alright, you can go ahead and drop it," Chuck told him, once the radome was clear of the radar underneath.

The two men tossed the radome to the sand, and Chuck returned to the aircraft. Kneeling, he examined the Marconi AI.24 Foxhunter radar closely. "It's still intact," he muttered. "No apparent damage… maybe a circuit reset needed… but not damaged."

"Bartowski," Casey said, "what the hell are you planning?"

"I've got this idea forming in my head," Chuck replied, not looking away from the radar. "I'm not sure where exactly it's going, but I think this radar is a good first step."

Casey frowned. "Bartowski, that radar is property of the British Royal Air Force –"

"- which has no idea where this bird is," Chuck interrupted him. "For all they knew, it blew itself into smithereens when it crashed. The crew had no idea where it went down. This is salvage."

"Ooookay," Casey said slowly. "When the Special Air Service comes a-knockin', I'm telling them it was your idea."

"Oh no," Chuck replied dryly. "What EVER shall I do?" He reached behind the radar and disconnected the plugs that connected it to the aircraft, and then went back to work with his Allen wrench. "Alright," he said a few minutes later. "Casey, can you help me carry this to the Bradley?"

Casey just smiled in disbelief and grabbed one end of the radar. The two men walked it slowly back to the Bradley, where Chuck strapped it to the floor on top of a cargo blanket.

"What the hell is that?" Wainwright asked when they brought the radar in.

"It's a British radar set," Casey replied, giving Wainwright a _Don't ask, you don't want to know_ look.

Wainwright just shook his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

* * *

When they got back to Camp Omaha, Chuck got his hands on a USB cable – and immediately cut it in half. Stripping the wires, he started playing around with the radar set, trying to figure out how to turn it into a plug-and-play piece of hardware.

"You are a real piece of work sometimes, Chuck," Sarah remarked when she found him in exactly the same place one morning that she had left him the night before. He had huge bags under his eyes, but there was no denying the look of excitement and enthusiasm on his face.

"No, you've gotta see this," Chuck said. He looked up, a sheepish grin on his face. "If it works, I mean."

Sarah looked at him curiously. "What did you do?"

"See," Chuck said, standing and lifting his cannibalized cable, "I THINK I got all this hooked up just right so that the USB cable will be able to not only interface a computer with this radar set, but it will power it as well!"

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Okaaay…"

"Oh, but here's the real kicker!" Chuck continued, turning his Alienware laptop to face Sarah. "I've had this thing running dual with Windows XP and Linux, and I spent most of last night writing a program in Linux to HOPEFULLY work with this radar set. I finally got it to compile – I just need to see if it runs now."

Despite not having a clue what the hell Chuck was talking about, Sarah found herself sucked in by the Air Force officer's enthusiasm. "Interesting," she said. "Well… fire it up!"

Chuck grinned. "Why don't you do the honors."

Sarah gave him a look. "Uh, Chuck, I wouldn't have a clue where to start."

Chuck's smile got even bigger. "Just click on OK."

Sarah shrugged. "Easy enough." Leaning forward, she used the laptop's touchpad to move the mouse cursor to the "OK" button, which she clicked on. Immediately, a window popped up and began running code.

"And now, to see if it works," Chuck muttered.

Nothing happened for a moment, except for running lines of code. Then, the screen went blank, with a green line periodically running from left to right.

"Come on…" Chuck bit his lip.

That's when a message popped up on the screen. _AI.24 FOXHUNTER RADAR ONLINE_.

Chuck thrust his fists in the air. "HOT DIGGITY DAMN!"

Sarah couldn't help but smile. "Well, it looks like it worked," she said.

"Now to test it!" Chuck replied. "Walk around the other side of the table."

Sarah did so – and immediately, the screen went bright green as the radar set got a return off of the human standing right in front of it. "IT'S ALIVE!" Chuck shouted with all the verve of Dr. Frankenstein.

* * *

Two weeks later, Chuck had come up with something of a pie-in-the-sky plan of insanity. He had determined that with the right platform, he could collect massive amounts of intelligence – radar, video, and audio – through multimedia-designed computers and use his mental abilities to process it, try to flash on the information that came through his displays.

"See," he told the Project Omaha team, "I run the Foxhunter radar through a Linux computer. We get our video hooked up to a PC running Windows Media Center, and we process all the audio through a Mac. I know, it's a little ridiculous to run three different computers with different operating systems, but those are our best options for the different media."

Colonel Valenti looked at Chuck thoughtfully. "Okay, so we get you your three computers. All told, how much would ALL of the computer equipment cost?"

"Ten grand?" Chuck guessed. "Really, compared to most military budgets, peanuts."

"But you need a platform," Colonel al-Fahd interjected. "That's the expensive part."

"Yeah," Chuck admitted. "And to be honest, I don't even know what the right… aircraft…"

His voice trailed off as he looked at Carina. "Wait a second," he whispered. The DEA agent, sitting on the edge of the conference table, looked up at Chuck.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"The day you arrived," Chuck said, starting to get excited, "you referenced Dale Brown's novels. That's what we need!"

Carina looked at Chuck strangely. "A military action novel?"

"No!" Chuck replied. "We need to build our own Old Dog!"

Carina's jaw dropped. "You are out of your mind."

"Yep!" Chuck shouted gleefully. "And it's great!"

Without warning, he grabbed Carina and quickly kissed her. "Thank you for the inspiration!" he said, and then turned to Colonel Valenti. "Colonel Valenti, I need a B-52!"

Colonel Valenti looked at Chuck with a look usually reserved for the very young and the very old. "What?" he asked, the word slipping out slowly.

"A Boeing B-52 Stratofortress!" Chuck exclaimed. "It would be the PERFECT platform for this project! I'd have a huge amount of room to operate in, analyzing all the intelligence, there would be enough room for Dr. Novak or Colonel al-Fahd to be onboard, monitoring me – it's exactly what we need!"

Valenti's head just started to shake back and forth. "There is absolutely no WAY, Bartowski," he said, a note of disbelief in his voice. "The Air Force will never spare a bomber just for this project."

Chuck shrugged. "Who said we needed an active one?" he asked. "There's a bunch of them in flyable storage out at the Boneyard in Tucson – get one of those!"

Colonel Valenti didn't say anything for a very long moment. Finally, he said, "If I get you this bird, I WILL get results, right?"

"Absolutely, Colonel Valenti!" Chuck exclaimed. "Oh, yes, absolutely!"

Valenti stood. "I'll see what I can do."

Chuck practically beamed with joy. "Thank you, sir!"

"No promises, Bartowski!"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Just after midnight, Chuck was sitting at his desk, working on writing even more code for what John Casey had already dubbed the StratoPig. Chuck somewhat objected to that nickname, but it had been quickly accepted by everybody else.

He wasn't expecting a knock at his door, so he didn't even notice when it came. A moment later, the person at the door knocked again, prompting Chuck to distractedly call out, "It's unlocked!"

He heard the door open and shut, but didn't look up – there weren't many people on this base who would visit him at this time of night. "Can you hand me a Red Bull out of the fridge there?" he asked, without looking away from his work.

"Oh, I think I can give you something a little more enjoyable."

Chuck's head snapped up and whipped around to the left, a look of alarm on his face. "Oh, no," he uttered. "Uh, Agent Hansen –"

Carina smiled wickedly. "I'm pretty sure I'll have you saying, 'Oh YES' in just a moment, Lieutenant."

"No, no, no," Chuck replied insistently. "Absolutely not."

Carina mock-pouted. "Oh, but I did enjoy that kiss earlier," she said, a sultry undertone to her voice. "And Lieutenant… I… want… more."

As she spoke, she unzipped her flight suit, and let it slide from her shoulders. With nothing keeping it up, it collapsed, falling to the floor. Carina stepped out of it, now clad in just her socks.

_UH-OH_, Chuck thought, but found that his body was about three steps ahead of him. Carina advanced toward him, and his widening eyes took in her flawless alabaster skin, locking on her chest for a moment, then moving downwards –

"This is a really bad idea!" he suddenly exclaimed, leaping upwards out of his chair and trying to back away from Carina.

Carina's smile got even bigger. "Of course it is," she purred. "That's why I LIKE IT!" She pushed Chuck backwards onto his bed, and stood over him at the foot of the bed.

"No," he protested weakly. "I – I can't…"

Carina tilted her head to the side. "Come on, Chuck," she said, kneeling on the bed and straddling Chuck's pelvis. "Your precious little Trish doesn't EVER have to know."

And even as Chuck's own body betrayed him, the thought ran through his head that it wasn't Trish he was particularly worried about finding out.

It was Sarah.

* * *

The next morning, Sarah Walker was awakened early by her cell phone ringing. She had managed to get Director Graham to grease the skids a bit, and she had just gotten confirmation that the USAF was, in fact, sending an older B-52G to Iraq for Project Omaha to play with.

Sarah was rather pleased with herself. She had managed to get a bomber – an entire BOMBER! – for Chuck. She couldn't wait – she had to tell him about this, right now.

She found herself practically skipping by the time she reached his quarters. She stood outside the door for a moment. "He won't do anything foolish, Sarah," she told herself. "You've been down this road twice now. He's not going to do it again."

Taking a deep breath, she reached out a hand and knocked on the door. After a moment with no answer, she knocked again. There was still no answer.

Now Sarah was getting concerned. "Chuck?" she called through the door.

She heard a muffled noise from within. She wasn't quite sure what it was, but it sounded distinctly like somebody saying, "Oh shit," from behind a gag.

"Chuck?!" she called out again. She was getting alarmed. "Chuck, I'm coming in!"

"NNNNNNNNO!"

That was it. Sarah slammed her shoulder against the edge of the door, popping it open. Pulling her gun from behind her back as she went, she burst into Chuck's quarters –

To find him naked, handcuffed to his bed, a gag in his mouth. "What the hell happened to you?!" she said in alarm. Quickly looking around the room, she determined that nothing appeared to have been taken. Chuck's uniforms were still in his closet, the radar still on the floor, his computers still on his desk –

Along with a note. Sarah reached out and picked it up.

_Dear Chuck – You are far too modest. If I had to settle down, you'd be the perfect guy, because I would ALWAYS be satisfied. Believe me when I say that I am one DEA agent who is gonna be coming back for another hit of that! – Carina_

Sarah closed her eyes and slowly breathed in, doing her best to keep her anger in check. She gently set the note back on the desk and turned back to Chuck.

"I'll be going now," she told him, her voice lifeless, her eyes cold. "But before I do, you should know – a B-52G will be here by noon."

Chuck's eyes registered shock and dismay – and then panic as she started to walk away. He tried to yell to Sarah to stop. "Can't understand you through the gag, big boy," she said bitterly.

As she walked out the door, Sarah Walker made a decision. She had been burned by Chuck Bartowski too many times.

Enough was enough. There would be no more between the two of them.


	13. Highway to Hell

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER 13 – "Highway to Hell"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Agent Bryce Larkin - Matthew Bomer  
Colonel Rick Valenti - Tony Shalhoub  
Captain John Casey - Adam Baldwin  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright - Richard Belzer

* * *

Chuck Bartowski had been like a kid on Christmas morning – for the past week. Ever since the old Boeing B-52G had landed at Camp Omaha, he had had a smile permanently plastered on his face.

The computers he had requested had arrived the following day – an Alienware Area 51 desktop, an Apple Mac G4, and a custom-built Sun system running Linux. He had actually done a little happy dance in Colonel Valenti's office when he had been notified that the computers were there.

The first thing he had done after that was convince Colonel Valenti to let him cannibalize the wreckage of the Raven. Valenti hadn't been sure at first, but Chuck had convinced him – all the electronic intelligence gear on the destroyed EF-111 was still intact, and since it had the same engines as the B-52, the afterburners might be useful.

Valenti had been disturbed by the thought of afterburners on a B-52, but he had gone along with the idea – "Provided you don't crash the damn thing," he had warned Chuck.

And so now, Chuck was inside the B-52, wiring it up like a pinball machine. Gone were the old navigator and bombardier's computers, replaced instead by what looked like a miniaturized version of NORAD. He was also blasting AC/DC over the aircraft's PA as loud as it could handle.

"Livin' easy, livin' free – season ticket on a one-way ride," he muttered as he carefully attached two wires together. He braced himself for a spark, but when none came, he smiled and wrapped a piece of duct tape around them, temporarily joining them until he could solder them.

Sarah Walker, in the meantime, had been avoiding Chuck for the last week, and feeling guilty about it. Yes, she was mad. Yes, she was extraordinarily jealous. But the fact of the matter was, every time she had even come close to doing something with Chuck, it was simply encouraging him to cheat on his fiancée. She had resigned herself to the fact that Trish Reitan had gotten to him first, and she was just going to have to live with that.

Granted, the fact that Carina had managed to worm her way into Chuck's bed gnawed at Sarah like nothing else. However, Sarah took comfort in the fact that she could say she had taken the high and honorable road, whereas Carina was apparently nothing more than a dirty slut.

Sarah needed to talk to Chuck, though. He was nowhere to be found on the camp, but everybody was fairly convinced that he was in the B-52, working on its systems. As she approached the old aircraft, she heard what sounded distinctly like AC/DC coming from inside.

She climbed the airstair that had been rolled up to the B-52's door and stuck her head inside. The music was, in fact, deafening. "HELLO?!" she shouted.

There was no response, but she heard Chuck's voice faintly singing along with the music. "I'M ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL!" Sarah laughed and shook her head, following his voice toward the lower deck of the personnel compartment.

She found him with his feet sticking out from underneath a console that was DEFINITELY not part of the original equipment of the forty-six year old bomber. "HEY!" he shouted over the music as she approached. "WHOEVER'S STANDING OUT THERE, CAN YOU HAND ME THE SOLDERING IRON THAT'S ON THE DECK?!"

Sarah bent down and picked up the soldering iron, carefully handing it to Chuck so that neither of them got burned. He took it from her with a "THANKS!" and then resumed singing about how he was clearly on a highway to hell.

Sarah took a seat at what was left of the navigator's station, and simply waited. After another couple of minutes, the song ended – and the silence was deafening. "Chuck?" she said quietly.

Clearly, he had not expected it to be her in the plane, because there was a THUNK as he tried to sit up and smacked his head into the underside of the console. "OW!" he howled, and then gingerly slid out from under the console.

He sat up and rubbed the red mark on his forehead, a look of chagrin on his face. "Are you alright?" Sarah asked him, a mixture of concern and amusement in her voice.

"Yeah," Chuck replied. "I'll be fine."

Sarah smiled. "How's the StratoPig doing?"

Chuck narrowed his eyes. "The Strato_FORTRESS_ is just superb. It's gonna be like nothing the Air Force has ever seen before."

"I'm sure it will be," Sarah said, trying not to laugh.

Chuck gave Sarah a look of disdain. "Did you come here to mock my B-52, or did you come here to actually talk about something?"

She nodded. "I'm actually here to talk," she said.

"Okay," Chuck replied, pulling himself up onto the bombardier's chair. "What's up?"

"You," Sarah said. "Me, and whatever there is – or isn't – between us."

Chuck sighed. "I knew this was gonna come up sooner or later," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Sarah agreed quietly. "I mean, I know we agreed – what, nine, ten months ago, that you and I were just going to be friends?"

"Something like that," Chuck said with a nod. "But we haven't done very well with that, have we?"

"No, we most definitely have not," Sarah said. "Honestly, though, I thought that maybe –"

Chuck cut her off by holding up his hand. "Please… Sarah… don't say it. It'll just make us both feel worse."

Sarah bit her lip. "Yeah. But, you know, when I walked in on you the other morning, and saw the note from Carina –"

"I know," Chuck said. "And I did feel really badly about that. Believe me, it wasn't my idea – she sort of walked in and assaulted me."

Sarah grimaced. "I'm getting the feeling that's her M.O.," she said. "Still – I'm going to be very honest with you, Chuck. That really hurt me. The fact that you had turned me down just a couple of weeks before and then let her… well."

Chuck nodded and looked at the floor of the B-52. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Then he looked back up at Sarah. "You know… I wrote a letter to Trish… telling her, and apologizing –"

Sarah's eyes went wide. "You did WHAT?!"

Chuck got a confused look on his face. "Uh, I thought it would be the right thing to do."

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed. "Chuck, please tell me you haven't sent it yet."

"No," Chuck replied, shaking his head. "I was going to finish it and send it today."

"DON'T," Sarah said emphatically. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but don't. You love Trish right?"

"Yeah!" Chuck said. "Of course."

"And the thing with Carina, it was just a mistake, right?"

"God, yes," Chuck said with a grimace. "And one I have no intentions of repeating."

"And you're saying that you'd risk screwing everything with Trish up just because you made a mistake?"

Chuck looked at Sarah in shock. "So I should LIE to her about it?"

"I'm not saying that," Sarah replied. "Just don't tell her! I promise you, you'll regret it later if you do."

Chuck sighed. "I don't know, Sarah. I mean, how do you know? How do you know this is the right thing for me to do?"

"Because Chuck, been there, done that," Sarah replied dryly. "There was a guy in college. He was a varsity basketball player, I was the overachieving double-major. Yet somehow, we clicked, fell in love, blah, blah, blah. Spring semester of 2003 – my last – we were right on the verge of getting engaged. The basketball team made it into the NCAA tournament, and then, when they came back, he confessed to having slept with one of the cheerleaders while they were on the road.

"He was a good guy," Sarah continued. "I mean, I have never seen somebody so guilty, so upset about having done something as he was over that. He swore he'd never do anything like that again, and I believed him. The thing is, I'm a jealous person by nature –"

"Tell me about it," Chuck muttered.

"Shut up!" Sarah shot back. "I do know more than a hundred ways to kill you, bucko."

"Suuure," Chuck said, smiling.

Sarah just shook her head. "ANYWAY. I couldn't get over the fact that somehow some other woman had gotten to him, and in the end, I just couldn't take it. I broke up with him, and wound up becoming a government agent. Oh MY what a wonderful life I'VE led."

Chuck shrugged. "I got to meet you because you became a government agent," he said quietly. "I can't complain about that."

Sarah sighed. "Chuck… don't. Please don't say things like that – they mess with my head."

"Sorry," Chuck replied. "I'm not trying to mess with your head. I'm just telling you the truth."

"Truth, huh?" Sarah said. "Well, here's a piece of truth for you, Chuck. DON'T send the letter. You WILL regret it."

"Okay." Chuck nodded, and then sighed. "I don't know how to deal with the guilt, though."

Sarah shook her head. "Just let it go. You said that Carina was a mistake. Don't beat yourself up about it. Everybody makes mistakes."

"Okay," Chuck said again, but he still didn't look convinced.

* * *

Bryce Larkin was actually starting to see his star rise at the CIA. He was starting to impress with his analyses, and was being trusted with bigger and better projects.

He had also been left alone by Colonel Wainwright for almost two months now. The last call he'd gotten had been asking for any perceived weaknesses in the Pratt & Whitney TF30 turbofan. Wainwright had later called and told him that the information had been most useful, but there hadn't been anything beyond that.

When he arrived for work on Monday morning, though, there was something he didn't expect at all on his desk – a letter from Chuck Bartowski.

"There's no way," he whispered to himself. Could Chuck have finally forgiven him?

Hands shaking, Bryce tore open the envelope, and removed the letter within. He gently unfolded it.

_Dear Bryce,  
I'm going to start off by being painstakingly honest. I thought that I would pretty much hate you forever. What you did, taking Jill from me, was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. It crushed my heart and ruined my last semester at Stanford.  
However, I have discovered that there are more important things in life. I honestly can't tell you what I'm doing right now – it's top secret. However, I can tell you that it's pretty exciting – and that it almost killed me.  
You remember how I thought I was going to be flying F-16s or F-22s? Well, I ended up flying something a little less exciting – F-111s. Yeah, not exactly hotrods, but still pretty fun. Here's the thing, though – I was on a mission about a month ago when one of the engines blew itself apart. The plane ended up crash-landing on the runway, and my pilot and I were lucky to get out alive.  
That's when I realized that it was time to let bygones be bygones. You were my friend for far too long for me to continue hating you over what happened. And so, I forgive you, Bryce. I forgive you for Jill.  
I hope you're doing well. You can write me back at the return address that's printed on the envelope – they wouldn't tell me what it was.  
Talk to you later._

_Chuck Bartowski_

_PS – The terrible troll raises its sword._

Bryce smiled, and then laughed. It was amazing – he felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He tossed the letter on his desk and thrust his fists in the air, spinning his office chair around. "Attack troll with nasty knife, Chuck Bartowski!" he yelled –

And then he froze.

**AN F-111?!**

"Oh, shit," he whispered. "Oh, God, no." Pulling up Internet Explorer, he searched for the specifications on the F-111. Google sent him to Wikipedia. Bryce scrolled down, down, down –

"FUCK!"

Bryce's outburst caused several other analysts to give him strange looks.

"Goddammit," he whispered. "No, no, no!"

But there it was, in black and white. The General Dynamics F-111 Aardvark was powered by the Pratt & Whitney TF30 turbofan.

* * *

"Generators coming online," the voice of Colonel Valenti sounded over the interphone.

"Check," Chuck replied from his position at his station on the lower deck. Captain Casey had dubbed it the Intersection – "Everything comes together there," he remarked. Chuck, remembering what the operator onboard the E-3 had called him months before, had quickly shortened that to the Intersect.

"Disconnecting from ground power," Casey said.

Chuck closed his eyes and prayed. They had not yet had a successful switchover from ground power to onboard generators without his system tripping offline. He noticed a momentary dimming in the aircraft's lights, and then heard the distinct clicking sound of CRT monitors resetting themselves.

"Goddammit," he muttered, opening his eyes – but to his surprise, the computers were all still running! The monitors had reset, but the computers had not.

"Oh, by the way, Bartowski," he heard Casey's voice say over the interphone, a note of amusement in it, "since I'm assuming you're wondering why your computers didn't reset, you might want to check below your station. A gift from Agent Walker."

Chuck narrowed his eyes, and then looked underneath the station –

"A battery backup," he groaned. "I can't believe I didn't think of that!"

* * *

Colonel Wainwright stood in the control tower, watching the StratoPig taxi toward the runway. "What do you think, Agent Walker?" he asked. "Can Bartowski handle these tests going further?"

Sarah smiled. "Colonel, based on my observations, Chuck can handle just about anything."

"You mean Bartowski."

"Uh, yeah," Sarah replied, an uncertain tone to her voice. "Chuck – Bartowski? Chuck?"

Wainwright sighed and shook his head. "It would be preferable if you didn't become so familiar with him, Agent Walker."

Sarah rolled her eyes. What the Army lieutenant colonel didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Then Wainwright's phone rang. He looked at the display, and narrowed his eyes. "I have to take this," he informed the other personnel in the tower.

Stepping outside, he opened the phone. "Wainwright."

"_Colonel, this is Mr. Bates. I am on an unsecure line._"

Wainwright gritted his teeth. "That was very foolish of you, Mr. Bates."

"_It's for a reason, Colonel. I quit._"

Wainwright's eyes narrowed. "Oh no you don't, Mr. Bates."

"_Stop me._"

"Mr. Bates, if you quit, we will find your family. We will hurt them. We will kill them. We will find you. We will hurt you. Eventually, we will kill you. But we'll do something far worse. I know where your friend is, the one you tried to keep away from the world of top secret operations. I know EXACTLY where he is, and I will hurt HIM, and I will kill him. I will do it PERSONALLY."

There was silence on the other end. "Mr. Bates, do you understand me?"

"_You son of a bitch_," the voice of Bryce Larkin sounded from the other end. "_I swear to God, if you lay a hand on Chu-_"

"Ah, ah, no names, Mr. Bates," Wainwright warned him. "You know better."

"_You're a dead man, Wainwright._"

Colonel Wainwright smiled. "Believe me, Mr. Bates, I am not scared of you. Now, are you going to do your job, or are you going to destroy many, many lives?"

"_I… I'll do my job, you fucker._"

And the call disconnected. "Ah, Agent Larkin," Wainwright said to himself. "Such a pity."

* * *

_**Author's note:** for those of you who are curious, yes, Wikipedia was around back in August of 2004. It went online in 2001, and the entry on the F-111 Aardvark has been on Wikipedia since March of 2003._


	14. Red Flag Rumble

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER 14 – "Red Flag Rumble"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Captain John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Colonel Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd – Naveen Andrews  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Captain Devin Woodcomb, MD – Ryan McPartlin  
Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster  
Trish Reitan – Olivia Wilde

* * *

_**YH**__**ИTEД**__** CTATEC A**__**ИP ФOPЦE – **_UNITED STATES AIR FORCE (transliterated into Cyrillic)

* * *

When Chuck Bartowski woke up and went outside on the morning of September 1st, 2004, he thought that he had stepped into Soviet Russia.

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, but to no avail – the StratoPig had been painted jet black. A bright red, gold trimmed star had been painted on the tail, and the words YHИTEД CTATEC AИP ФOPЦE had been painted on the side of the old B-52.

"This is nuts," he muttered. Bleary-eyed, he started making his way toward the StratoPig, his curiosity overcoming his normal morning need for coffee.

As he approached the B-52, he saw John Casey climbing down from the cockpit. "Captain!" he shouted toward the descending officer. "What the hell is going on?"

Casey turned around with a grin. "Ah, _privyet_, Comrade Bartowski!" he barked, with a mock Russian accent. "In Soviet Russia, plane baffles you!"

Chuck shook his head. "Okay, seriously. What the heck?"

"Red Flag," Casey replied, dropping the accent. His grin got even bigger. "Colonel Valenti signed us up to fly out to Vegas and participate in the fall exercise. WE get to be an aggressor."

Chuck's interest was suddenly piqued. "Oh, REALLY," he mused. "As in, we get to go bomb shit and be a nuisance?"

"Hell yes!" Casey said. "It'll be fuckin' awesome!"

As they were talking, a black Chevy Impala rolled to a stop next to the B-52 and the front door opened, with Sarah Walker stepping out. She looked up at the plane in confusion, and then from Chuck to Casey.

"Did something go wrong?" she asked. "I don't remember the Soviets winning the Cold War."

"_Da_, Comrade Walker," Chuck replied in an accent even more ridiculous than Casey's. "We now serve the Glorious _Rodina_!"

Casey struggled to keep a straight face, as Sarah gave Chuck a look of amused tolerance.

"Is that so, Comrade Bartowski?" Sarah asked with a coy smile. "Well… _Ya bezumno lyubyalyu vas, i mne zhalv, shto ya ne mogu skazatv vam_."

Chuck's eyes widened in confusion – and then he got even more confused when Casey's jaw dropped. "_WHAT?!_" the Air Force captain yelped.

Chuck looked from Sarah to Casey and back again. "What just happened?"

"Nothing, Bartowski," Casey growled, just as Sarah smiled again and said, "Maybe I'll tell you later."

Chuck shook his head. "You know, you both kind of suck a little bit."

* * *

_Two days later, in flight over Mormon Mesa, Nevada_

"BARTOWSKI!" John Casey roared over the interphone. "Where are those fighters?!"

"They're at least fifty miles away!" Chuck shouted back. "They're out of the Foxhunter's range!"

"Fucking Italian piece of shit radar," Casey hissed.

"Wouldn't matter even if we could see them," Colonel Valenti interjected calmly. "That very first pass took out our air-to-air capability and our tail gunner."

Chuck shook his head, and then looked over to the ELINT station, where Colonel al-Fahd was lounging in his chair with a grin on his face. "Sorry, Bartowski," he said. "I'm dead, remember?"

"Yeah," Chuck grumbled. A pair of Arizona Air National Guard F-15s had gotten a jump on the StratoPig north of Las Vegas and had administratively "killed" Colonel al-Fahd and their defensive weapons systems.

"Alright," Chuck said over the interphone. "Our target is Hoover Dam. Colonel Valenti, I'm gonna need you to take us down on the deck, as far down as we're allowed. If you rock the boats on Lake Mead, fine – just don't sink anything."

"Oh, but it would be so much fun, Bartowski!" Valenti replied sarcastically.

"Yes, sir," Chuck replied, shaking his head. He felt the B-52 nose downward as it headed toward the surface of the massive man-made lake below.

The StratoPig leveled out at 1,000 feet, barreling over the surface of Lake Mead at just over 400 miles per hour. The simulated bomb run on Hoover Dam called for some very tricky maneuvering, which was why Colonel Valenti, the most experienced pilot on the team, had drawn the aircraft commander's seat for this flight.

"Fighters, Bartowski!" Valenti boomed.

"Still out of range, sir!" Chuck called back. The B-52 began a lazy right-hand turn as they approached the Arizona state line.

Chuck looked at his displays. Nothing – nothing – nothing –

_A blinding flash of light. A mushroom cloud rising. A classified file on a man codenamed "Colt". A 3D model of a B-52 bomber. The Hoover Dam._

Chuck snapped out of the flash in shock. "Uh-oh," he whispered, and then hit the microphone key. "Colonel Valenti, we don't have any actual ammunition onboard, correct?"

"That's correct, Bartowski," he heard. "Why?"

"Just curious, sir."

Chuck shook off the flash. He had no idea why he thought that that could've been his B-52 – he had visually inspected the bomb bay AFTER they took off from Nellis. It was completely empty.

The Sun computer started beeping rapidly. Chuck looked at the display in alarm. "Uh, we got F-15s at forty miles, closing rapidly!" he announced.

"Lovely," Valenti deadpanned. "How much time left on our run, and how long before they get here?"

"Uh, ninety-four seconds left on our run, ninety-two till they reach us."

"Crap," John Casey uttered. "Don't tell me we're doing this crazy thread-the-needle bit for nothing."

"No," Chuck replied. "Give me a second, I'll think of something."

"Bartowski, you've only got about eighty seconds!" Valenti reminded him.

"I know, I know!"

Chuck closed his eyes and started thinking. "Shake the F-15s," he muttered. "How do we –"

His head snapped up, a huge smile on his face. "The afterburners!"

He keyed the microphone again. "Captain Casey, I want you to open the vents on the wing tanks – just barely, just enough that we leak maybe an ounce of JP per second."

"What the hell, Bartowski?"

"Sir, just trust me."

"You better know what you're doing, Bartowski," Casey replied, and as Chuck watched, a minute stream of jet fuel began flowing from the tanks in the wings.

"Just let it go until I tell you to shut it off," Chuck told him.

He watched the icons for the fighters get closer and closer. Finally, they were in range. "Alright," Chuck said. "The fighters are five miles behind us, so here's what needs to happen. When I say NOW, Casey, shut the vents. Colonel Valenti, I want you to wait maybe half a second after he does that, and then engage the afterburners on engines 1 and 8."

There was silence from the cockpit, and then Valenti said, "Bartowski, you've lost your mind."

"It won't damage the Eagles, sir, but it will get them off our tail."

"This better work, Bartowski."

"It will," Chuck replied confidently. He waited three more seconds, and then said, "NOW!"

The fuel stopped flowing, and after the briefest of pauses, the afterburners kicked in. Chuck turned his attention to his video monitor as the B-52 shot forward.

Twin tails of flame leapt from the StratoPig's wingtips – and the streams of jet fuel vapor that stretched out for twenty miles behind the B-52 ignited. Chuck laughed in glee as two trails of flame appeared across the sky, and as he watched the feed from the rear-facing camera, he saw two planes break off pursuit and rocket skyward behind them.

"We've lost 'em, let's take out the dam and head home!" Chuck announced.

That's when a new voice sounded in everybody's headphones. "_Freebird-One, this is Watchman – WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!_"

Chuck grimaced as the voice of the controller onboard the E-3C Sentry, orbiting 35,000 feet above them, raged through the B-52. But his grimace turned to a smile when he heard Colonel Valenti say, "THAT was some damn good tactics, Watchman."

* * *

Sarah Walker watched with a smile on her face as the huge black B-52 descended toward the runway at Nellis Air Force Base. It had been the only aggressor aircraft to get through all the defenses – but one was all it had taken. The simulated nuclear bomb onboard the fifty year-old Stratofortress had "eliminated" Hoover Dam, and as a result, Red Team had won.

The B-52 touched down with a puff of smoke and rolled out to practically a crawl, turning to taxi back toward the reviewing stand. When it reached the stand, it came to a stop. The hatch opened, and an airstair was rolled up to it – and as the crew descended, somebody with a dark sense of humor started playing _L'Internationale_ over the P.A. system.

"What the heck is that music?" she heard a voice ask beside her.

Sarah turned to her left to see a young man, a few inches shorter than herself, with dark hair and a scruffy beard staring at the B-52.

"That would be the first national anthem of the Soviet Union, the Internationale," Sarah replied. "And if I'm not too terribly mistaken, you're Morgan Grimes."

Morgan's eyes widened. "How – how did you know that?"

Sarah smiled. "I work with Chuck Bartowski."

"Oh, really?" Morgan replied, his eyes going back to normal. "Um, you should meet his sister then, too! She's somewhere around here – ELLIE!"

Sarah winced as Morgan yelled. "That's alright, Morgan, I'm sure he'll intro-"

"No, she's right here!" Morgan replied. "Her and her boyfriend – Captain Awesome," he finished sarcastically.

"Captain Awesome?" Sarah asked, confused.

"Yeah," Morgan replied. "Everything he does is awesome – skydiving, white-water rafting – flossing…"

Sarah laughed and rolled her eyes. "I'm sure he's not that awesome," she said.

"I object!" she heard a VERY familiar voice say behind her.

Sarah whirled around – to look into the face of Devin Woodcomb. "Holy shit!" she yelped. "Captain Woodcomb?! You're Captain Awesome?"

Devin grinned and shrugged. "In the flesh, Ag- uh, Sarah," he replied, cutting off her title as she flashed him a warning look.

The brunette with Devin – _Ellie Bartowski_, Sarah thought – looked at Devin strangely. "You two know each other?" she asked.

"Yeah," Devin replied. "She's a, uh, a civilian contractor working with the unit Chuck's assigned to."

"Oh, okay!" Ellie said. "I'm Ellie Bartowski," she told Sarah, extending her hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," Sarah replied, taking Ellie's hand. As she shook the older woman's hand, she could feel Ellie's eyes examining her – _probably wondering what I may or may not have done to her brother_, Sarah thought.

"HEY!" she heard another familiar voice say behind her. She whirled around to see Chuck bounding toward them like Tigger. "What did you guys think?"

"DUDE!" Morgan yelled. "That flame thing you guys did – the one that looked like _Back to the Future_ – that was freakin' amazing!"

"It was pretty awesome," Devin added with a smile. "How you been, Chuckles?"

Chuck sighed. "I hate it when you call me that – uh, sir," he added quickly.

"Damn straight," Devin replied with a laugh.

Chuck turned his attention to Sarah. "What did you think?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Watching the feed from the observer aircraft – that really was the coolest thing I've ever seen."

Chuck's face broke into an ear-to-ear grin. "Well, if YOU liked it, then it was all worthwhile – especially the ass-chewing I'm likely to get from… the safety… board…"

His face turned into a look of amazement as his speech trailed off. "Oh my God," he said softly.

"What is it, Chuck?" Sarah asked, beginning to feel concerned.

But Chuck ignored her, and walked past her – and then started running. Sarah turned around just in time to see him run up to, and embrace –

Trish Reitan.

Despite the last few months, despite everything that she had sworn, despite what she had promised Chuck, Sarah still felt a cold hand of jealousy grip her stomach as she watched Chuck pick up his fiancée and whirl her around. When Chuck kissed Trish – and it was no innocent, chaste peck on the lips, either – she had to bite her lip and take a deep breath.

"Uh, I need to go," she said, getting Morgan's attention. "Tell Chuck I'll see him later."

Morgan looked at her in confusion. "Uh, I'm sure he'll be right back –"

"That's okay," Sarah said. She NEEDED to get out of there, right now. "I really need to go."

And with that, she turned tail, and departed from the area as quickly as she could without running.

* * *

_About three hours later, the Luxor Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas, NV_

Chuck lay on his back in the king-size bed, a huge smile on his face. "Wow," he whispered. "It has been MUCH too long."

"Mm-hmm," Trish agreed, cuddling up against him. They had come back to her hotel room a couple of hours before, although she had promised him that they would return to Nellis for the post-Red Flag festivities.

Chuck sighed contentedly. "I love you, Trish."

"Yeah," she said softly – but there was a strange tone to her voice.

Chuck knew that tone, and it was not a tone he wanted to hear. Shifting slightly to sit up, he looked down at Trish and asked, "What is it?"

She looked back at him – and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "It's you," she whispered. "I'm terrified for you. These last eight months – I've been wondering if I was ever actually going to see you again."

"What do you mean?" Chuck asked. He did not like where this was going.

"I mean, every so often, I see these black sedans come driving into town, and they go to houses, and military officers get out – and I know what they're doing there, Chuck," Trish said. "They're telling people that their husbands, their wives, their children – that they've been killed over there."

"Oh, Trish," Chuck said quietly. "It's not gonna happen –"

"But I don't know that, Chuck!" Trish cried out in frustration. "Two families JUST ON MY STREET lost family members in combat in the last month! Both times I saw those cars coming down the street, and I just KNEW it had to be you!"

Chuck was at a loss. He didn't know what to say. "I love you, Chuck," Trish sobbed. "I really do, but I can't do this. I can't live every day in fear that I'm never going to see you again."

"Wha – what does this mean?" Chuck asked, eyes wide in shock.

Trish didn't say anything, just pressed her hands against Chuck's. He felt something dig into the palm of his right hand. "I'm so sorry, Chuck," Trish whispered, and then she fled to the bathroom.

Chuck didn't look down at what she had placed in his hand. He couldn't bear to – even though he knew exactly what it was.

It was Trish's engagement ring.

* * *

Sarah Walker sat by herself in the corner of the makeshift bar in the Nellis officers' mess, nursing a tumbler of Johnny Walker black label. She didn't know where the bartender had gotten it, nor did she particularly care at that moment.

Sarah planned to get herself good and drunk and then, hopefully, fall asleep for the next year or so. "You… are a fucking idiot, Walker," she muttered to herself as she lifted the tumbler to her lips.

"If you don't mind my saying so, I don't believe you're a 'fucking idiot'," she heard a voice behind her. Sarah turned her head to see Colonel al-Fahd standing there, a glass of red wine in his hand.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, indicating the empty seat across from her.

Sarah shrugged and waved her hand. "Whatever."

Al-Fahd sat down, and then lifted the glass of wine to his mouth. Sarah stared at him in puzzlement for a moment, and then said, "I didn't think you drank."

Confusion crossing his face, al-Fahd set his glass down. "Whyever not?"

Sarah shrugged. "I thought that observant Muslims avoided alcohol."

A disbelieving smile appeared on al-Fahd's face. "Agent Walker, what makes you think I'm an observant Muslim?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "The fact that multiple times every day you face Mecca, kneel, and pray?"

Al-Fahd laughed and shook his head. "Oh, heavens no. My father taught me to do that so that I would remember and understand my heritage, but my mother is high-church Anglican, and that's what my upbringing was. You have to understand, we Anglicans do love our wine."

"Just like us Lutherans and our beer," Sarah muttered.

Al-Fahd narrowed his eyes. "You're Lutheran?"

_Oh, shit_, Sarah thought. "Um… I really can't say," she replied.

"I see," al-Fahd said. "What can you say?"

"Colonel al-Fahd…" she started, and then stopped. She shook her head, and then blurted out. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

A look of surprise appeared on the Army colonel's face. "Uh… I beg your pardon?"

"Do you think I'm attractive?" Sarah asked, a note of desperation sounding in her voice. "Do you think I'm good-looking?"

"Yes, of course!" Colonel al-Fahd replied, noticeably confused. "But… what brings this on, exactly?"

"Chuck Bartowski," Sarah grumbled. "I've spent over a year now working with him. I know that he knows that I like him, and I think he likes me too – but every time I think something's going to happen, he backs off!"

Colonel al-Fahd looked at Sarah as if she'd lost her mind. "Agent Walker, correct me if I'm wrong, but Lieutenant Bartowski is engaged, is he not?"

"Yes," Sarah muttered. "And he's too fucking honorable to betray that."

Colonel al-Fahd shook his head. "It's not an enviable situation you find yourself in… Sarah."

He smiled and extended his hand. "Why don't we take this conversation elsewhere?"

* * *

To say that Chuck Bartowski was intoxicated would be an understatement.

To say that he was rip-roaring drunk would be closer to the truth.

He had wandered north on the Strip, getting more and more drunk with each passing casino. Finally, when he reached the Stratosphere, they had deemed him too drunk to drink – a difficult feat indeed in Las Vegas – and told him to hit the road.

A taxi had taken Chuck back to Nellis Air Force Base, and somehow, he had found his way onto the flight line, a forty of Bud Light in hand.

"LOVE STINKS!" he yelled into the air as he staggered across the tarmac. "YEAH, YEAH!"

He looked up at the StratoPig as he weaved toward the old B-52. "Oh, Piggie, the only one I can truly trust," he said drunkenly.

The airstair was still parked by the bomber. Unsteadily, Chuck slowly made his way up the stairs, into the cockpit. He paused in the door –

There were very distinctive sounds coming from below. "What the hell?" he asked. Leaning into the cockpit, he yelled, "IS SOMEBODY FUCKIN' IN MY BOMBER?!"

The sounds from below decks immediately went silent. Narrowing his eyes, Chuck decided to investigate. Gingerly making his way down the ladder to the deck his station was on, he reached out and turned on the cabin lights –

Just in time to see Sarah Walker pulling her skirt on as a shirtless Lieutenant Colonel Padraig al-Fahd pulled his pants up behind her. They looked at him in shock, and Chuck froze.

There was dead silence in the bomber for a moment, and then the beer bottle slipped from Chuck's hand, crashing to the steel deck and shattering. "Chuck –" Sarah started, but Chuck stopped her.

"Agent Walker," he slurred, "kindly get the fuck out of my airplane."

Sarah, a mortified look on her face, darted past Chuck, and disappeared up the ladder. Still weaving, Chuck approached Colonel al-Fahd with a look of murder on his face.

"Lieutenant Bartowski," al-Fahd said by way of greeting him.

"Don't 'Lieutenant Bartowski' me, SIR," Chuck spat. "You should know that I am within a hairsbreadth of violating Article 90 of the UCMJ right now."

Al-Fahd narrowed his eyes at Chuck. "Very well, Bartowski. I won't make this any worse than it needs to be. Good night."

The Army colonel also disappeared up the ladder. Chuck Bartowski sat down heavily in the chair at his station, and stared blankly at the screens in front of him.

And ten minutes later, the only sounds in the B-52 were those of a grown man quietly crying himself to sleep.

**END PART TWO**

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ Article 90 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice is in relation to committing assault on a superior officer._

_In addition, the Russian that Sarah spoke to Chuck toward the beginning of the chapter is an actual sentence; however, what it means will remain a secret for a while yet to come!_


	15. Interlude Washington

**_Chuck vs. His Destiny_**

**Interlude - Washington**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Agent Sarah Walker - Yvonne Strahovski  
Director Arthur Graham - Tony Todd  
Agent Bryce Larkin - Matthew Bomer

* * *

Sarah Walker was drained, physically and emotionally. The last twenty-four hours had been an absolute nightmare for her. In fact, the last twenty-four hours were why she was in Langley and not on Project Omaha's support KC-10 headed back to Iraq.

Steeling herself, she passed through the doors of the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency. "The Work of a Nation," the sign over the doors proclaimed. "The Center of Intelligence."

"And the land of the fucked up and the home of the bullshit," Sarah muttered to herself. She couldn't believe how rapidly things had gone down the tubes. Just yesterday afternoon, when the StratoPig landed at Nellis, things were great. And then –

Then Chuck went gallivanting off with Trish Reitan. Then Sarah got drunk and for some inexplicable reason decided that sleeping with Colonel al-Fahd would be a good idea. And even worse, they had ended up doing it IN the StratoPig, where Chuck inevitably found them.

Sarah hadn't spoken to Chuck since then, and if she had her druthers, she never would again. She had ripped into him after the incident with Carina, and she suspected he might well do the same to her – and she would probably deserve it.

The halls of Langley were cold and foreboding – a different world from the barracks halls at Camp Omaha in the middle of the Iraqi desert. The sound of Sarah's heels clacking on the floor echoed hollowly through the corridors.

The elevator ride up to the administration floor seemed to take forever. The strains of "Girl from Ipanema" wafting from the Muzak system did little to improve Sarah's mood.

Finally, she reached the admin floor. She stepped out of the elevator, eyes fixed on Director Graham's office. As she crossed the floor, another agent approached her.

"Agent Walker!" he hissed. She paused and looked at the agent.

"Agent… Larkin, wasn't it?" she asked.

Bryce Larkin's eyes lit up. "Yes!" he replied. "That's me! Do you have a moment?"

Sarah shook her head. "I really don't," she said as she resumed her march toward the Director's office. "Sorry!" she tossed over her shoulder.

She opened the door to Graham's office without knocking. He looked up, startled to see her walk in. "Uh, I'll call you back," he said to his phone, placing it in its cradle.

"Agent Walker," he said, looking confused. "Shouldn't you be halfway to Baghdad?"

"I want a reassignment, sir," she blurted out.

Graham raised an eyebrow. "Denied."

Sarah couldn't believe it. "But sir –"

Graham shook his head. "I don't care how you feel about Lieutenant Bartowski. I don't care what you did with Colonel al-Fahd. And don't ask how we know – you don't want to know."

He leaned forward across his desk. "But no, you may not be reassigned. You are the best agent for this job, and that's where you're going to stay."

Sarah sighed and looked at the floor. "Yes, sir."

"Dismissed." And with that, Graham made it clear that the conversation was over.

Sarah turned around and exited the office. As she crossed back toward the elevator, she pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed Andrews Air Force Base, to see if she'd be able to get on a flight going back to Iraq that day or the next.

As Sarah stood at the elevator, waiting, on hold, Bryce Larkin approached her again. "Agent Larkin, this REALLY isn't a good time," she whispered.

"I know," he replied. "Just please, take this."

He stuck a piece of paper into Sarah's hand as the elevator arrived. She stepped into the elevator, taking it to the ground floor. As she exited the building, she tossed the piece of paper that Bryce had handed her into a trash can – without even looking at it.

The piece of paper said, _I desperately need your help. Do you know anything about an organization named Fulcrum?_


	16. A Year In the Desert

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_**, PART THREE**

**Chapter Sixteen – "A Year in the Desert"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Congressman Henry Waxman (D-CA) – Wallace Shawn  
Congressman John F. Tierney (D-MA) – Stephen Collins  
Congressman Christopher Shays (R-CT) – Henry Winkler  
Congresswoman Carolyn B. Maloney (D-NY) – Beverly D'Angelo  
Congressman John M. McHugh (R-NY) – Robert Redford  
Agent Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer  
Deputy Director Tommy Nieto – Anthony Ruivivar  
Agent Carina Hansen – Mini Anden  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Colonel Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Major John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd – Naveen Andrews

* * *

**Monday, August 27****th****, 2007  
U.S. House of Representatives  
The U.S. Capitol, Washington, D.C.**

"This session of the National Security and Foreign Affairs Subcommittee of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform is now in session, Chairman John F. Tierney presiding."

The gavel slammed down, and Sarah Walker jumped in her chair. Just over six months now, and she was still jumpy after the incident in Iraq.

Six months that she had been back stateside, performing mindless, meaningless chores at CIA headquarters. Six months that she had had to put up with the ever-increasing pain in her ass known as Bryce Larkin.

Six months since she had seen Chuck Bartowski.

"Good morning," Henry Waxman, the chair of the House Oversight committee began, opening the hearing. "Today, we will be examining the role of the Central Intelligence Agency in the so-called 'Fulcrum Scandal' and the top secret project known as 'Omaha'. The contents of today's hearing are classified top secret; sharing information from this hearing is a violation of the United States Code, title 18, section 798, and will be prosecuted as such."

"Thank you, Congressman Waxman," John Tierney said. "This scandal has proven very damaging indeed to the United States intelligence community. It is our responsibility as a Congressional committee to determine the cause and depth of this scandal, in order to ensure that it does not repeat itself."

Congressman Tierney paused, and looked out over the subcommittee. "Over the next several days, we will be speaking with the remaining members of Project Omaha," he continued. "Hopefully this will allow us to reach the bottom of this matter."

He picked up a pair of glasses and slipped them on, glancing down at a sheet of paper as he did so. "The chair calls the first witness, Sarah L. Walker, officer of the Central Intelligence Agency."

Sarah rose from her chair at the witness table, and a page stepped forward with a Bible. Sarah placed her left hand on the book and raised her right hand. "Agent Walker," Congressman Tierney said, "do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Sarah nodded. "I so swear."

"You may be seated," Congressman Tierney said. "The chair recognizes the honorable Congresswoman from New York."

Carolyn Maloney nodded and leaned toward her microphone. "Agent Walker," she said, "how long have you been an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency?"

Sarah looked Congresswoman Maloney in the eye. "Four years, two months, fourteen days," she replied. "I joined the CIA on June 13th, 2003."

Congresswoman Maloney nodded. "And Project Omaha has been your only assignment since completing field training?"

"Yes, ma'am, that is correct."

Congresswoman Maloney nodded again and sat back. "The chair recognizes the honorable congressman from Connecticut."

"Thank you," Christopher Shays said. "Agent Walker, would you say you were close with the other members of Project Omaha?"

"Yes," Sarah replied. "Some more so than others.

"And would you consider them your friends?"

"Again, some," Sarah said. "Obviously, there are others who I would not count among my friends."

Congressman Shays narrowed his eyes and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Agent Walker, would you please describe the exact nature of your relationship with Captain Charles I. Bartowski, United States Air Force?"

Sarah's breath caught in her throat, and she felt her heart begin to race. "Uh… colleagues, friends, certainly… very close friends."

Shays raised an eyebrow. "Nothing more?"

Sarah closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. "No, sir."

"Very well," Shays replied. "No further questions."

Congressman Tierney nodded. "The chair recognizes the honorable congressman from New York."

Congressman John McHugh actually stood and began to pace behind his colleagues. "Agent Walker," he said, "we have seen the reports written and filed by Agent Carina Hansen of the Drug Enforcement Administration. During her year long review and investigation, she determined that Project Omaha was secure – although it is now clear that the project was severely compromised."

McHugh stopped and looked directly at Sarah. "Agent Walker, we know nothing of what happened after January of 2005. I need you to tell us exactly what happened between that time and February of this year."

"Yes, sir," Sarah said quietly. "I would actually like to begin in September of 2004… shortly after Project Omaha's trip to the Red Flag Range at Nellis Air Force Base."

* * *

**September 2004**

As Sarah Walker exited CIA headquarters, she crumpled the piece of paper that Bryce Larkin had handed her into a ball and tossed it into the garbage. She really didn't care to deal with anything involving the CIA just at that moment – and even if it was important, he could take it up with Director Graham.

"Good afternoon, Agent Walker," she heard as she plodded toward the parking garage.

Lifting her head, she saw the source of the voice – Deputy Director (Research & Development) Tommy Nieto. _Christ_, she groaned internally. She and Nieto had never gotten along.

Hoping that he wouldn't want to talk, she nodded to him. "Director," she said.

Luck was on Sarah's side, as Nieto just kept walking. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, climbed into her rented Crown Victoria, and drove off.

Tommy Nieto, however, had been watching Sarah Walker from the moment she walked out of the building. He had seen her toss a piece of paper into the trash, and his curiosity raised, now headed for that very trash can.

Reaching in, he grabbed the balled up piece of CIA stationery and unfolded it. Smoothing it out, he read what was written –

_I desperately need your help. Do you know anything about an organization named Fulcrum?_

Tommy's eyes narrowed, and his temper began to rise. In addition to being the DD(R&D) of the Central Intelligence Agency, Tommy was also the second-in-command of the organization known as Fulcrum.

It seemed to Tommy that one of his agents was trying to betray them. There was no name on the paper, but the distinctive handwriting matched that of a Fulcrum agent known only to most as Mr. Bates – but known to Tommy Nieto as Agent Bryce Larkin of the Central Intelligence Agency.

Nieto entered the building. After passing through security, he boarded an elevator, which took him to the administration floor. Looking across the room, he quickly found his objective.

Tommy Nieto strode quickly across the floor, greeted with the occasional, "Director." He reached the desk and stood outside the cubicle.

"Agent Larkin," he said quietly. Bryce Larkin looked up at him.

"Director Nieto!" he said, rising to his feet. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I need you to come to my office for a moment," Nieto replied.

"Not a problem," Bryce said, standing and following Nieto.

The DD(R&D) led Bryce into his office, shutting the door behind the young agent. "Agent Larkin," Nieto said quietly, his voice flat.

"Yes, sir?"

Nieto unfolded the piece of CIA stationery, which he then handed to Bryce. "You recognize this?"

Bryce's eyes widened and his face went white as he realized what it was. "Uh, sir, there's this organization, and, uh, I was trying to get another agent to help me – they're bad people, sir, and I want to make it go –"

Bryce's sentence was cut off as Nieto's fist connected with Bryce's jaw. Bryce staggered backwards, his head smacking against the wall behind him. "You made a VERY bad choice, Larkin!"

"What?" Bryce practically shrieked. "I don't – I don't understand!"

Nieto grabbed Bryce by his collar and dragged him upward. Staring Bryce in the eyes, he hissed, "I AM Fulcrum, you piece of shit!"

Bryce's jaw dropped. "Oh, fuck."

"Let me make something very clear… Mr. Bates," Nieto said softly, confirming for Bryce that he knew his identity. "You will continue to do our bidding, and you will never do anything like this again. If you do, we will find Lieutenant Bartowski and we will make him wish he was dead. Then we will kill you."

Nieto released his hold on Bryce's collar. "Now, go back out to your desk, Agent Larkin, and do your job. I know that you've already pissed of Colonel Wainwright once, so consider this your second warning. You fuck up again…"

Nieto left the threat hanging in the air. Bryce shuddered at the implication. "Dismissed, Agent Larkin."

* * *

**January 2005, Camp Omaha**

Carina Hansen sat on Chuck Bartowski's bed, looking to be on the verge of tears. "I've spent a year of my life here," she remarked quietly. "I've spent that year investigating this outfit, looking for a leak that absolutely has to be here. I've tried to figure out who has compromised this team – and yet, I'm no closer now than I was a year ago."

Chuck sighed. "Carina, I'm sure you'll find the answer," he said. "It's like you said when you got here – you've got one of the best investigative records in the Drug Enforcement Administration."

She shook her head, a tear forming in the corner of her eye. "I won't finish the investigation," she whispered. "I've been recalled."

Chuck's jaw dropped, and he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "What?" he asked. "No, they can't – they can't do that!"

Carina shrugged and smiled wryly. "Tell that to General Beckman," she said quietly. "My investigation was apparently a failure."

Chuck shook his head. "If you leave, though…" He looked at the floor.

Chuck had not spoken to Sarah Walker on a social basis since finding her with Colonel al-Fahd in the StratoPig four months beforehand. They were professional colleagues and absolutely nothing more.

Into the void she had left stepped Carina Hansen. Chuck had needed a friend, somebody just to vent to, after Trish had broken up with him. Sarah was dead to Chuck, and John Casey just wasn't going to fill that role. And so, Carina and Chuck had quickly become good friends.

Carina had not tried to seduce Chuck again. She realized that he wasn't looking for a girlfriend, or even a friend with benefits – just a friend.

But now, he was about to lose even that. He was going to lose the friend that had gotten him through the last four months.

"I'm gonna miss you," Chuck said quietly.

"Yeah," Carina whispered. "I've got a few more days… but they're sending me to San Diego. I'm going back to narcotics investigation."

"Well, good luck," Chuck replied. "I'm sure you'll do well."

Carina smiled slightly. "Of course I will."

* * *

**May 2005, Camp Omaha**

"Captain John Archibald Casey, you have shown great merit and accomplishment as an officer of the United States Air Force. Your missions and work are befitting of the best values of the United States of America. It is with great pleasure that I hereby bestow upon you the rank of Major in the United States Air Force, with all the privileges and responsibilities thereof."

Colonel Rick Valenti smiled and shook Casey's hand. "And John, may God have mercy on your soul."

Major John Casey rolled his eyes and shook his head. "It's a promotion to Major, sir. I haven't been elected President."

Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd snorted. "We might've been better off if you were."

Casey turned to Colonel al-Fahd and wagged a finger at him. "No, no, sir, we don't allow politics here!"

Al-Fahd rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Major. All due respect to President Bush, but he's why we're stuck in this dump."

"I think that might more be Saddam Hussein you're thinking about," Casey shot back. "Had it not been for him, we wouldn't be over here."

"You say what you want, Major," al-Fahd replied, "but it was the Bush Administration that started this pile of –"

"Hey!" Chuck Bartowski interrupted. Every eye in the room turned toward him.

Chuck swallowed. "Look," he said, "I might be the most junior officer here, but the fact of the matter is, it really doesn't matter why we're here. We ARE here, and we need to make the best of it. So Major Casey, if you would kindly swallow your pride in the Republican Party, and Colonel al-Fahd…"

Chuck stopped. _Stop being a dickless wonder_, he thought. _Stop being a philandering piece of shit_. _Stop being a total fuckup bastard_.

"You get the idea, sir," Chuck finished.

Chuck stared at al-Fahd, who stared right back. It had been very difficult for Chuck to show any respect for Colonel al-Fahd for the last eight months. In fact, as far as Chuck was concerned, Colonel al-Fahd could burn in hell.

He felt a pair of eyes burning into his back, but when he turned, Sarah Walker looked away.

Chuck just shook his head. He had had enough of this bullshit. "Colonel Valenti," he said, "may I go?"

Valenti nodded. He knew about what had happened in Las Vegas, and the last thing he needed was the centerpiece of Project Omaha and the project's medical officer at each other's throats. "Dismissed, Bartowski."

* * *

**September 2005**

It had been nearly sixty hours since Chuck Bartowski had last slept. He was running purely on caffeine and adrenaline.

But he had his reasons. In fact, he believed that he could convince anybody – anybody! – that what he was doing was worth it. He knew Major Casey would agree with him. He figured Colonel Valenti would agree with him. He just had to convince the powers that be.

Lifting the jeweler's monocle, Chuck peered at the wiring as closely as he could. It looked like he had all the necessary wires attached – he just wasn't sure if it would work.

"Here we go," he whispered, plugging the USB cable into the Alienware laptop. Firing up his customized radar software, he started a test cycle.

The screen flashed green, and then began its sweep program. _MPQ-53 radar detected_, it said. Chuck grinned – he had done it!

It shouldn't have worked. The MPQ-53 radar was a huge, truck-borne radar set that controlled Patriot missiles. What Chuck had created was just a few inches across, a miniature solid-state radar made out of what had been the radar from an AIM-120 AMRAAM missile.

"Alright," Chuck muttered. The miniaturized radar, if he was able to attach it to a Stinger missile –

"All the accuracy and deadliness of a Patriot missile, yet man-portable," Chuck whispered. His smile got even bigger – and then the corner of the laptop screen turned bright green. Somebody had entered the room.

He looked up – and there was Sarah Walker. She had walked into the dining hall. She looked over at Chuck, and then looked away. That's how it had been for nearly a year.

Chuck sighed, shook his head, and looked back down at the laptop. He had work to do –

"Oh, screw this," he muttered. "Sarah!"

Sarah Walker's head whipped around, and she looked at Chuck. "Chuck?"

Chuck looked across the room. Now that he had gotten the CIA agent's attention, he didn't have a clue what to say. "Uh… how have you been?"

Sarah cocked her head. "Just recently… or for the last year?"

Chuck laughed quietly and looked at the floor. "Yeah… um… I'm sorry about that. I don't… I don't know why."

Sarah sighed. "It's okay, Chuck," she replied. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly."

Chuck smiled wryly. "Join the club," he said. "I was drunk as a skunk when I climbed up into that B-52."

"Yeah, that you were," Sarah said, a smile beginning to appear on her face. "I was about three sheets to the wind myself."

"See," Chuck replied. "This is why alcohol is evil. It screws with people's heads."

Sarah shrugged. "I don't know, it can be good sometimes…"

Chuck's smile got wider. "Sarah, I was in a fraternity. Alcohol is evil."

Sarah shook her head and laughed. "Oh, please."

That's when she froze, and a thoughtful look appeared on her face.

Chuck's smile slowly faded. "What is it?"

"I… I've really missed this," Sarah said quietly. "I've missed being able to just talk to you. I've missed having a friend I can spend time with and not have to worry about anything."

Chuck nodded. "I've missed you too, Sarah…"

Sarah crossed the room toward Chuck, and without a word, embraced him. He wrapped his arms around her back and squeezed tightly.

"Just for the record, though," she whispered, "you're an ass for not talking to me for the last year…"

Chuck shook his head and laughed. "Whatever."


	17. I, Patriot

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – "I, Patriot"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Lt. Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Colonel Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Doctor Thomas Novak – Jonathan Frakes

* * *

**December 2005**

Chuck Bartowski barged through the door of Colonel Valenti's office without knocking. "Merry Christmas, Colonel!" he announced, unceremoniously dumping a missile tube on Valenti's desk.

Colonel Valenti looked at the tube on his desk, and then up at Chuck in confusion. "What the hell is this?"

"Colonel, that's the iPatriot!"

Valenti raised an eyebrow. "The what? I, Patriot? Is that like 'I, Robot'?"

Chuck shook his head. "No, it's the iPatriot, like iPod! Or, if you prefer, the FIM-92R iPatriot."

"The FIM-92 –" Valenti stopped himself. "You've been playing around with a Stinger?"

"Yes, sir!" Chuck nodded, an enthusiastic smile still on his face.

"Bartowski, that's a thirty-eight thousand dollar missile!" Valenti said disapprovingly. Chuck's smile began to fade. "Whose authorization did you have to do that?"

"Uh, sir?"

Valenti looked at Chuck in disbelief. "Lieutenant Bartowski, you may well be the most important military intelligence asset we have, but that does NOT give you free rein to play around with expensive equipment!"

"I'm sorry, sir," Chuck mumbled, looking at the floor, as his face began to turn red. "I thought – I just thought, since I knew how –"

"He had my authorization, sir."

Chuck's head snapped up, and he looked to his right. "Sarah?"

Sarah Walker strode into Valenti's office. "Agent Walker," Colonel Valenti said, "I hardly think you have the authorization to grant Lieutenant Bartowski that permis-"

"It was a CIA missile, from stores recovered from the Mujaheddin," Sarah said frostily. "It was my missile to give him, and I did so. Is that a problem?"

"Yes, it is!" Valenti practically growled. "Whether or NOT it was a CIA missile is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is, Lieutenant Bartowski was conducting unauthorized weapons testing on my base without my permission."

Sarah looked at Chuck with a helpless look on her face. "I tried," she said defeatedly.

Chuck shrugged. "I apologize, Colonel."

"Your apology will be kitchen duty for the next week at breakfast," Colonel Valenti replied. "Also, before you go, you can explain to me why you called it the iPatriot."

Chuck cocked his head. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," Valenti replied. "Quickly, before I toss you out on your ass."

"Okay, sir!" Chuck answered. "So, what I did is this – I removed the infrared tracker from the missile head. I then took a radar unit from a AIM-120 missile – don't worry, sir, this one was wrecked way back when the Raven crashed last year – and I modified its software and its abilities –"

"Modified its software?" Valenti asked in disbelief. "You did that how?"

Chuck smiled. "I'm a genius, sir!"

Valenti shook his head. "Continue."

"Anyway, so I modified the software, and made it act like the MPQ-53 for the Patriot missile. I installed the radar on the missile, and now it has the accuracy and deadliness of a Patriot!" Chuck paused. "There is a minor downside, and that's that you have to have the unit hooked up to a computer running software that I wrote in order for it to act like a Patriot, but still, with a laptop, it can be man-portable.

"And that's actually why I called it the iPatriot," Chuck finished. "It's easy to carry around – like I said, like an iPod – but it's as effective as a Patriot. I figure it'll only cost about a thousand dollars per missile for modification, and you provide a trooper with four iPatriots and one of those super-duty laptops – they're good to go!"

Valenti regarded Chuck thoughtfully for a moment. "Okay, Bartowski, say I got approval to modify these things. How quickly could you do it?"

Chuck shrugged. "How quickly can you get me seekers from defective AMRAAMs?"

"You've got 'em," Valenti replied. "Now how fast?"

"One missile an hour," Chuck said. "Eight missiles a day – I can get you forty missiles in a standard work week, God willin' and the creek don't rise."

Sarah looked at Chuck strangely. "What did you just say?"

He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Sorry," he said. "It's just something my grandmother used to say, and it seemed appropriate."

Valenti shook his head. "I can't guarantee you that I can get you funding or permission, Bartowski. In fact, I can't guarantee you that the brass won't want to reprimand you for unauthorized weapons modification."

Chuck blanched, and he swallowed. "Uh, yes, sir."

Then Valenti finally allowed himself a hint of a smile. "But I do admire your ambition in taking the initiative on this, Bartowski," he continued. "You really have proven that you're more than just the guy with the files in his head."

"Thank you, sir!"

* * *

**January 2006**

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Bartowski," Doctor Novak said. "Please, come in."

"Yes, sir," Chuck replied, stepping into Novak's office and closing the door. "I was told that you wanted to see me?"

"Yes," Novak replied. "And I do apologize for the clichéd appearance of my office – a big couch was the only piece of furniture the supply clerk could spare for my patients."

_Patient?_ Chuck was puzzled. "I don't recall being your patient, sir."

"Lieutenant, you haven't had a psych eval in over two years," Novak said. "Don't you think that perhaps it's time?"

Chuck sighed. "Yes, sir. I just am not a big fan of talking about my 'feelings' with, well, anybody."

"Except Agent Walker."

Chuck crossed his arms and gave Novak a strange look. "Boy, Doc, you really get right down to brass tacks, don't you?"

Novak smiled. "Lieutenant Bartowski, there's no reason to deny that you and Agent Walker are close. It's clear that you have become good friends once again, and quite frankly, given the stresses that we all face in this environment, I think that the two of you have a certain advantage in having somebody you can speak with."

Chuck shrugged. "I guess I'm just lucky, sir," he said as he sat down on the couch. "Sarah – Agent Walker – is a wonderful person, she's a great listener, and an even better friend."

Novak narrowed his eyes. "Then why exactly did the two of you go over a year without so much as one friendly word?"

"That's a good question," Chuck replied, shaking his head. "It's a long story."

"And it's a blank notepad," Novak said, holding up his tablet with a small smile.

"Alright," Chuck said, resigned to telling the story. "So. You're aware that in September of 2004, we took the StratoPig to a bombing competition at the Red Flag range outside of Las Vegas."

"I remember that that occurred," Novak replied. "I myself was in Washington while you were in Nevada."

Chuck nodded. "Well, while we were there, we basically experienced a 'perfect storm' of mishaps. Our test run was great – yeah, we did experience some virtual 'damage' and Colonel al-Fahd was administratively 'killed' just after takeoff, but we still managed to complete our mission almost perfectly.

"Sarah was there to watch our run, along with my friend, Morgan Grimes, my sister, Eleanor, and her boyfriend – who happens to be Captain Devin Woodcomb. You remember him, right?"

"Of course," Novak replied, a surprised look appearing on his face. "How did THAT happen?"

"My fault," Chuck said with a shrug. "He told me he had been transferred to the V.A. hospital in Westwood, so I gave Ellie his number, told her that she should give him a call."

Chuck smiled. "Anyway… after we landed, they were all there to tell me how great the bomb run was, and Sarah especially seemed happy about how well it had gone – but Tricia Reitan was there."

"Tricia – Trish, your ex-fiancée?"

"That's the one," Chuck replied, a slightly bitter note appearing in his voice. "She was there to break up with me – apparently, she couldn't handle the stress of potentially being a combat widow."

He sighed. "So, she broke up with me, I got drunk, and wandered back to the StratoPig. I intended to go up, sleep it off, and try not to move too much the next morning. However, when I got up into the aircraft, I discovered Agent Walker having sex with Colonel al-Fahd."

"Ahhh," Novak exhaled. "This is actually the first I'm hearing of this."

Chuck looked at Novak curiously. "You're kidding."

Novak shook his head. "Really, I'm not. I'm just not in the same, I don't know, 'gossip circles' as the rest of the personnel on base."

"Well… no matter the case, it ended up being more than I could handle. It's stupid, but I didn't want to talk to her after that, and even when I did, I was too proud to. That's how I ended up not talking to one of my best friends for more than a year."

"And you're glad that you finally did?"

Chuck smiled. "Oh, more than I can say. Sarah brings out the best in me, and she's what I like to call my inspiration for brilliance."

Novak pursed his lips and looked at Chuck thoughtfully. "You know, Lieutenant," he said, "there's something that doesn't appear anywhere in your psych file. It doesn't appear anywhere in your personnel file either."

Dr. Novak leaned back in his chair. "You never say anything about your parents, Lieutenant Bartowski. All that we know is that your father died when you were five, and your mother abandoned you when you were fifteen. Why is that?"

Chuck shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well… uh… I guess I just don't like to talk about it."

Novak tilted his head. "Chuck, have you ever really talked to anybody about it?"

"No," Chuck replied. "Like I said, I don't like talking to people about it."

Dr. Novak nodded. "Fair enough, Lieutenant. I have to ask, though, have you ever considered talking to Agent Walker about it?"

Chuck's eyes went blank, and his gaze wandered toward the door. "No, I guess I haven't," he finally said quietly. "I know she can't really tell me anything about her past…"

"You're right, she can't," Dr. Novak said. "But have you ever considered that you might feel better about life if you talked to somebody you care about and trust about your past?"

Chuck looked at Novak with a disbelieving smile on his face. "Feel better? Doc, I've got a fantastic assignment, the Air Force lets me play with multi-million dollar aircraft and weapons systems, I was the valedictorian of my class, and I've got one of the best friends I could have ever hoped for – why wouldn't I feel good about myself?"

"Do you really feel good about yourself, though, Chuck?" Novak asked. "Think about it. You have a falling out with Agent Walker, and then you sleep with Agent Hansen. You break up with your fiancée, and you go on a bender that would make an alcoholic shudder. You discover Agent Walker sleeping with Colonel al-Fahd, and you don't speak to her for an entire year."

Novak's face was animated, his eyes wide. "Chuck, these are not the signs of somebody who feels good about himself! In fact, as far as I can tell, you've only taken two positive steps in the last two years – talking to Agent Walker, and forgiving Agent Larkin!"

No sooner were the words "Agent Larkin" out of Novak's mouth than he realized what he had said. "Oh, shit," he muttered, clamping his mouth shut.

Chuck's eyes went wide. "Did you just say _Agent_ Larkin?"

"I can't say anything further," Novak said quietly.

Chuck sighed. "It's really not a big deal. I knew he worked for the government – I just thought he was GSA, not CIA."

Then Chuck's eyes narrowed. "How exactly did you know all that about me?"

Novak shrugged. "I am a CIA doctor, Lieutenant – note the 'CIA'. But I've spoken with Agent Walker, Agent Hansen, and Agent Larkin regarding you. They all think very highly of you, but they've all expressed concern about you."

Chuck sighed again. "So you really think I should talk to somebody about my childhood?"

"I do," Novak replied. "I think it'll do you good. If not me, then somebody. Agent Walker would be my recommendation."

Chuck was quiet for a long moment. "Alright," he finally said, nodding. "I'll try it. But Doc?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

Chuck smiled. "If it doesn't work, I'm gonna come back here and kick your ass."

Novak laughed. "I don't doubt it for one minute."

Chuck rose from the couch and started to leave Dr. Novak's office - and then turned back. "Wait a second... I thought you said that that a couple minutes ago was the first you heard of the thing with Sarah and Colonel al-Fahd."

Dr. Novak shrugged. "What can I say," he replied. "We all have our secrets."

* * *

Sarah was up way too late – an occurrence that was happening WAY too often.

Director Graham had become a bit demanding with regard to reports. He was asking for them on a daily basis, and even though Sarah had told him that she could only give him the developments Chuck made, he still wanted the daily report.

"Stupid bastard," she muttered to herself as she continued typing.

After another minute, though, she had had enough. "He can go fuck himself sideways," she grumbled, slapping her laptop closed and rubbing her eyes. This was ridiculous.

Just as she rose from her chair to prepare for bed, though, there was a knock at her door. "Oh, hell," she groaned. Nonetheless, she crossed to the door and pulled it open.

"Hi," Chuck Bartowski said, looking a little nervous.

"Hi to you too," Sarah said with a tired laugh. "It's a little late, don't you think?"

Chuck took a deep breath. "Sarah, did you talk to Doctor Novak about me?"

Oh. That's what this was about. "Yeah," she said quietly, looking at the floor. "I'm sorry. It was last spring – I was still so mad at you for just tossing our friendship, but I was worried about you, too – you had kicked me out of your life, Carina was gone, and you really didn't have anybody who you could confide in or who could, basically, have your back."

Chuck was quiet for a moment, and when Sarah finally looked up at him, she was shocked to see a smile on his face – and tears in his eyes. "Are you alright?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Thank you, Sarah."

Sarah smiled, and on impulse, reached out and hugged Chuck. "You mean too much to me to just watch you fall apart," she said.

"That's good, because I'd be kind of messy if I fell apart," Chuck replied wryly.

Sarah laughed. "You're a dork."

"Nerd," Chuck automatically corrected her.

"Great big dork." Sarah backed away from him and stood her ground.

Chuck gave Sarah a look and rolled his eyes. Then his expression turned serious again.

"You got a minute to talk?" he asked.

_Not really_, the little voice in Sarah's head said. But she wasn't about to shut the door on Chuck. "Sure," she said. "Come on in."

Chuck stepped into Sarah's room and sat down on her bed. She sat down next to him. "What's up?"

Chuck's face looked like he had suddenly found himself in a faraway place. "Sarah," he said quietly, "have I ever told you about my mom and dad?"


	18. Counter Insurgency

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – "Counter Insurgency"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski: Zachary Levi  
Agent Sarah Walker: Yvonne Strahovski  
Deputy Director Tommy Nieto: Anthony Ruivivar  
Major John Casey: Adam Baldwin  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright: Richard Belzer  
Colonel Rick Valenti: Tony Shalhoub  
Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd: Naveen Andrews  
Dr. Thomas Novak: Jonathan Frakes  
Director Arthur Graham: Tony Todd

* * *

**May 2006**

Chuck Bartowski was, indeed, whistling while he worked.

Of course, his working day had really long since ended. That, and his whistling was practically toneless – he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

But that didn't matter, because he was quite pleased. He was putting the finishing touches on turning the Bradley into an iPatriot deployment vehicle. It was like an Avenger… only BETTER.

The Bradley had been equipped with a custom-built PC that Chuck had made out of top-of-the-line equipment. His Linux control program was onboard, and an attached heads-up display allowed the FIM-92R missile to be fired from the relative safety of the Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicle.

Of course, it had yet to be field tested – but there would likely be no field test. Everything at Camp Omaha happened somewhat under the radar of the Department of Defense, and so it was really for the best that word of Chuck's weird Frankesteinian projects didn't get back to Washington.

So engrossed in his work was Chuck that he didn't even hear the tapping of heels coming across the floor toward him. In fact, Sarah Walker stood for nearly two minutes, an amused look on her face, just watching Chuck, before she finally cleared her throat.

The simple noise caused Chuck to leap upward out of the gunner's seat in the Bradley. He banged a knee on the console and then smacked his head against the ceiling. "OW!" he protested as he collapsed back down into his seat.

"Oh crap," Sarah muttered, rushing toward the Bradley. "I'm sorry," she said, a worried look on her face, as she climbed in. "Are you okay?"

Chuck rubbed the top of his head and looked at Sarah with a grimace. "I've been better," he grumbled irritably.

"Really," Sarah said. "I didn't mean to get you hurt… you were just so… um… engrossed in your work."

Chuck nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I supposed that's true," he said. He tilted his head. "What brings you to the hangar so late?"

Sarah shrugged. "Don't know," she replied. "I guess I was just bored and went looking for trouble."

Chuck laughed. "Trouble, am I?"

"Not you," Sarah said, allowing a grin to reach her lips. "But I suppose you and I together… we could BE trouble…"

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Just what are you implying, Agent Walker?"

"Oh, I don't know, Lieutenant Bartowski," Sarah said. "But sometimes… trouble happens, you know?"

* * *

The old Kaman HH-43 flew quietly across the desert sand. Modified during the Vietnam War to be a quieter helicopter, the noises of its intermeshing contra-rotating rotors were barely audible above the winds sweeping across the desert.

This particular model had been "borrowed", two months earlier, from Fort Rucker, in Alabama. It had been sitting in storage at the Army Aviation Museum there for several years – and a certain group of people had decided they had a better use for it.

Tommy Nieto, Deputy Director (R&D) of the Central Intelligence Agency, sat in the co-pilot's seat on the left-hand side of the aircraft, watching silently as the Fulcrum agent beside him piloted the old helicopter toward Camp Omaha. "Two minutes to objective," Warrant Officer José Garcia informed him.

Nieto nodded. "Prepare for drop," he said into his microphone, alerting the ten men in the cabin behind him.

There was no response from the men, but Nieto knew they understood. The men were a select group of ultra-nationalists, culled from the SEALs and the Rangers. All Latino or Middle Eastern, the men had been picked for this mission because of their ability to blend in, appearance-wise.

There was another reason why the twelve men in the helicopter were there. Fulcrum believed that Project Omaha would lead to the ultimate invasion of American privacy – it was, after all, intended to develop a super-computer that could match intelligence patterns in a matter of seconds. Who knew what the government could do with it next?

Fulcrum had a very simple objective for their mission this evening. They were to destroy Camp Omaha, kill all the personnel, and make it look like Iraqi insurgents had done it. There was an inside man at the camp who was supposed to disable the radar warning system, allowing the helicopter to get close.

"One minute to objective."

Tommy Nieto looked forward, out the windshield. His stomach turned at the thought of the people who would have to die tonight. John Casey, a true patriot who had never done anything but defend his country. Sarah Walker, a brilliant agent – and a beautiful woman, to boot. Charles Bartowski – he had committed no crime, simply been born with a knack for image retention and pattern recognition.

But they couldn't be allowed to live. As long as they lived, Project Omaha would go on.

"Thirty seconds."

"Prepare for drop," Tommy informed the men.

* * *

Chuck Bartowski licked his lips, an almost feral look appearing on his face. "I believe that I DO know what you mean… Agent Walker."

The way he said Sarah's title and name sent a shiver down her spine – a shiver not of fear, but of anticipation. "Then… maybe we should…" She took a deep breath. "Cause some trouble."

Chuck slowly advanced toward her, a fire burning in his eyes, a dangerous look on his face – a look that nearly made Sarah's knees turn to jelly –

And then he stopped. He narrowed his eyes and turned his head. "Do you hear that?"

The only thing that Sarah heard was the sound of blood rushing in her ears. "Hear what?" she gasped.

Chuck turned fully toward the door of the hangar. "It sounds like a helicopter," he said. "What the hell –"

That's when a gunshot echoed outside. A bullet whizzed into the hangar, grazing Sarah's arm and spinning her around.

"SARAH!" Chuck shouted as she fell to the floor. Ducking, he ran over to her.

"No, I'm okay," she insisted as he crouched down next to her. "It barely grazed me –"

She looked at her arm. It was bleeding, but not badly. "Dammit," she complained. "This top cost me a hundred bucks."

Chuck looked at Sarah in disbelief. "You just got SHOT, and you're concerned about your shirt?!"

Sarah shrugged. "My arm will need a Band-Aid. The top will have to be replaced. But right now, you and I need to take cover."

"Where do you suggest?" Chuck asked, still crouched down.

Sarah looked around the hangar. "When I say go, I want you to run to the Bradley, staying as low as possible, and get in. I'll be right behind you, okay?"

Chuck nodded. "Okay," Sarah said. "GO!"

Chuck leapt up, bent halfway over, and started half-running, half-waddling his way toward the Bradley. "Shit shit shit!" he yelped as he heard bullets whap into the back wall of the hangar behind him.

Sarah waited until he had reached the Bradley, and then took off running across the hangar. She ran a zig-zag pattern, and the bullets didn't even come close to her.

_Reminds me of Tehran_, she thought with… nostalgia? No, resurrected terror was probably a more appropriate way of putting it.

Breathing heavily, she climbed up into the Bradley with Chuck, who was busy buttoning down every hatch and portal on the armored vehicle. "We are safe in here, right?" she asked.

"Unless they have heavy weapons," Chuck replied. "The armor on this thing will stop anything short of a sabot round or a Hellfire."

* * *

John Casey sat bolt upright in his bed. He had no idea what had awakened him, but for the Air Force pilot who had been through Ranger school, nothing that pulled him from a deep slumber could possibly be good.

He sat there for a moment, not moving, barely breathing, trying to determine what had woken him. Then he heard it – the distinct chatter of AK-47 rifles.

"Ohhhhh fuck," he breathed. Hopping out of bed, he went right past the flight suit sitting on the back of his chair to his closet. Reaching in, he withdrew a BDU, which he had on in under a minute.

Bending over, Casey tightened his speed-lace boots. He stood back up, jammed his cap on his head, and crossed to the door. Cracking it open, he peeked out into the corridor –

Nothing. Gun in hand, Casey snuck out into the hallway, and keeping his back against the wall, made his way to the end of the corridor.

As he approached the end of the hall, he saw a faint shadow coming his direction from around the corner. Casey froze, getting as flat against the wall as he could, and continuing to creep along. Reaching the end of the wall, he pivoted on his left foot, bringing his gun up –

"FREEZE!" he roared – and realized that he was pointing his gun into the face of Lt. Colonel Wainwright.

"Kindly lower your weapon, Major," Wainwright said. His voice was as dry as usual, but he still sounded slightly rattled.

Casey's gun came down slowly. "What's going on, sir?"

"Insurgents are attacking the base," Wainwright replied tightly. "I'm heading down to the command bunker. You should join me."

"Yes, sir," Casey replied, falling into step behind Wainwright.

Two minutes later, they were in the command bunker. Colonel Valenti was already there, along with Dr. Novak and Colonel al-Fahd. "Good evening, gentlemen," Valenti said sarcastically. "Who's up for an evening of gunplay?"

Casey ignored the question. "Where are Bartowski and Walker?"

Valenti raised an eyebrow. "I figured you would check on them, Major."

Casey sighed and shook his head. "No rest for the wicked," he muttered.

* * *

"_Casey to Bartowski… Bartowski, please respond._"

Chuck's head snapped up, and he grabbed the radio handset next to the Bradley's gunner position. "This is Bartowski, go ahead," he replied, pressing the button on the radio.

"_Bartowski, where the hell are you?!_"

"Uh, I'm in the hangar… we're pinned down by gunfire, and we've taken cover in the Bradley."

"_We?_"

"Agent Walker is with me, sir."

There was a moment's silence. "_Why am I not surprised?_" Casey finally muttered. "_Alright, listen. There's a pack of insurgents out there. They've got AK-47s, and we think a mortar._"

"They've got a helicopter too, sir."

"_WHAT?!_" John Casey sounded like he had just been told that Ronald Reagan was a Communist. "_How the hell do you know that?_"

"I heard it just before Agent Walker got shot, sir."

"_WALKER GOT SHOT?!_"

Sarah sighed and grabbed the radio. "It's not that bad, John," she informed him. "I got grazed, it's not even bleeding any more. Lieutenant Bartowski is a drama queen."

Chuck gave Sarah a look and took the radio back. "I am NOT a drama queen."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Fine. You're a big dor- nerd."

Chuck smiled. "You finally got it right."

"Yeah," Sarah deadpanned. "The IMPORTANT things in life."

"Whatever," Chuck replied. "You wish you were as cool as I am."

Sarah scooted over next to Chuck and got right in his face. "Okay, Mr. Cool, which one of us got shot back there, and which one of us screamed like a little girl?"

Chuck took on a faux-hurt expression. "I did NOT scream like a little girl," he replied. "A grown woman, perhaps. But not a little girl. And you just said that you barely got grazed, so don't EVEN try to play that card on me."

"You… screamed… like… a… LITTLE GIRL," Sarah taunted him.

Chuck narrowed his eyes. "You might want to just shut up before I shut you up," he said, summoning the best tough-guy impression he could muster.

Sarah smiled menacingly. "And just how would you go about shutting me up, Lieu-"

Sarah found her voice suddenly cut off as Chuck's lips pressed against hers. Her eyes widened in shock, and then fell shut as she felt the tip of his tongue dance across her bottom lip. She moaned, and her mouth opened slightly, giving him better access –

"_BARTOWSKI!_"

"Oh, God DAMMIT," Chuck muttered angrily, pulling away from Sarah. He viciously swiped the radio off of the console. "Yes, SIR?!"

"_You and Walker need to stay in that Bradley for the moment, got that?_"

"Got it," Chuck replied, dropping the radio to the floor. He turned to Sarah, who had developed a hungry look in her eyes. "Now, where –"

He stopped himself mid-sentence. "Wait a second." He turned toward the console. "Holy shit!"

Sarah looked at him in disbelief. "What?" she ground out, annoyed that Chuck's attention seemed to have been diverted.

"A co-in squad, a helicopter… and here we sit, in an armored fighting vehicle that is armed not only with a fifty caliber machine gun, but ALSO a state-of-the-art anti-aircraft missile system!"

Sarah's eyes widened. "Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me."

* * *

Tommy sat watching from the helicopter as the ten-man squad advanced below. They would be inside the camp within the next couple of minutes, and ten minutes after that, it would all be over.

Everything had been going as expected so far. The Fulcrum operative had sent a signal indicating that he was in the command bunker with the senior project staff. As soon as the squad had located and killed Charles Bartowski, Tommy would send a signal back, telling him to execute the command staff.

But wait. What was that movement in the hangar?

As Tommy watched through his night-vision scope, an M2A3 Bradley came roaring out of the hangar, headed directly for his men. Horrified, Tommy watched as the .50 machine gun opened up on the men, cutting them down like a scythe through corn.

"Oh, shit," Tommy breathed. "Alright, get ready to take a Hellfire run on the base. I think that's the only option we've got."

"Yes, sir," WO Chavez replied. He turned the helicopter toward the main building and pushed the collective downward –

And a strange beeping began to emanate from Tommy's console. He looked down. _PATRIOT LOCK-ON_.

"What the fuck?!" Tommy shouted. "They don't have Patriots here!"

Chavez didn't say anything, just jerked the control yoke away from the base and pushed the collective down, piling on as much speed as he could.

The beeping got more furious. _MISSILE LAUNCH_, the console announced.

"Oh, shit –"

* * *

Chuck watched in satisfaction as the iPatriot missile rapidly closed the distance between the Bradley and the fleeing helicopter. The missile impacted on the engine cluster above the cabin, and with a burst of blinding light, the helicopter was ripped apart.

Chuck put the Bradley back into gear and wheeled it back around toward the hangar. "Agent Walker to base," he heard Sarah say into the radio, a note of disbelief in her voice. "Ten insurgents down, one helicopter destroyed."

* * *

Casey's jaw practically hit the floor. "You're kidding me," he muttered into the radio. "How?"

"_It was Chuck_," Sarah replied, and Casey was quite certain he detected equal parts pride and admiration in her voice. "_He drove us out in the Bradley, took down the men with the fifty cal, and then put his new missile system to the test._"

"Not bad, Bartowski," Casey replied over the radio. His admiration for the young lieutenant continued to grow – though it would take an act of Congress for John Casey to ever admit it.

* * *

"_This is less than ideal_," the commander of Fulcrum spat over the videoconference.

"Yes, sir, I'm aware," Colonel Wainwright replied. "I had no idea that Bartowski would have access to the Bradley."

"_Colonel, twelve men, including one of our highest-placed agents, are dead. An irreplaceable asset has been destroyed. This failure is on YOU, Colonel._"

Wainwright gulped, and his eyes widened. "Yes, sir, I understand."

"_We'll have to regroup, Colonel. We can't strike again too soon, or there will be suspicion. Formulate a new plan. We'll destroy Project Omaha yet._"

"Yes, sir," Wainwright replied with a nod. "Is there anything else, sir?"

The commander looked back at Wainwright, his face an inscrutable mask. "_No, Colonel_," said CIA Director Arthur Graham. "_Have a good night._"


	19. Here We Go Again

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: "Here We Go Again"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Lieutenant Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Colonel Rick Valenti – Tony Shalhoub  
Major John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright – Richard Belzer  
Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd – Naveen Andrews  
Doctor Thomas Novak – Jonathan Frakes  
General D. Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy

* * *

**August 2006**

The last three months had not been pretty.

In fact, they had been damn downright mother freakin' ugly.

* * *

Chuck Bartowski and Sarah Walker stood before Colonel Valenti's desk. He didn't say anything to either of them, just stared at them. Nearly five minutes passed before he said anything.

"Last night, during the attack," he began, "you two took cover in the Bradley, correct?"

"Yes, sir, that's correct," Chuck replied.

"Now, Lieutenant Bartowski, I understand why you were down there – you were working late, installing the iPatriot system on the Bradley. But Agent Walker – exactly what were you doing down there?"

Sarah's face went white. "Uh… sir… I was simply talking with Chu – Lieutenant Bartowski."

Valenti raised an eyebrow. "Is that so, Agent Walker. Then… can you kindly explain this to me?"

He turned his laptop around to face Chuck and Sarah, and there, on the screen, was a grainy but identifiable picture of the two of them, lips locked together, eyes closed. Sarah's eyes widened in shock. "There's a camera in the Bradley?!" she asked in horror.

"Yeah, that's my fault," Chuck said quietly. "I installed it to make sure nobody messed with anything."

Colonel Valenti sighed. "The two of you have got to act more professionally," he grumbled. "I cannot have you going off and having your flings inside military equipment. In fact, the two of you shouldn't be having anything at all. Agent Walker, you might not be military, but you are still assigned to a military project. Technically, fraternization is off-limits."

He crossed his arms. "I'm willing to overlook it, because the two of you seem to work better when… fraternization… is occurring." He narrowed his eyes. "But so help me God, the moment either of your performance degrades, I'm going directly to General Beckman. Is that CLEAR?!"

Chuck and Sarah both nodded. "Yes, sir!"

"Dismissed."

* * *

"We have a very serious problem."

The look on John Casey's face made him look like he was trying to pass a kidney stone. It had been three days since the insurgent attack on Camp Omaha, and he had been tirelessly working to try to figure out who the attackers had been.

It hadn't been easy at first – none of the attackers had any identification on them, and every serial number on the helicopter had been acid-washed. However, dental records and DNA testing had begun to reveal some very serious problems indeed.

"Eleven of the men who attacked our camp were Navy SEALs and Army Rangers," Casey informed them. "They were using a helicopter stolen from the Army Aviation Museum at Fort Rucker, Alabama."

Colonel Valenti's jaw dropped. "The fuckin' Army and the Navy attacked us?!"

"I wish that was the worst of it, sir," Casey replied, a defeated look on his face. "However, the man riding shotgun in the helicopter was Tommy Nieto, the deputy director for research and development of the Central Intelligence Agency."

At the words "Central Intelligence Agency", every set of eyes in the room – even Chuck Bartowski's – swung around to stare at Sarah Walker. She felt her face turn red and wished she could sink into the floor.

"As a result," Casey continued, dreading the next thing he had to say, "until further notice, all movement of US Army and CIA personnel at this installation will be restricted. That does include Colonel al-Fahd, Colonel Wainwright, Doctor Novak, and Agent Walker."

Colonel Wainwright stared straight ahead, as if he hadn't heard a thing Casey had just said. Colonel al-Fahd developed a resigned look on his face. Dr. Novak shrugged and rolled his eyes. Sarah, on the other hand, got well and truly mad.

"This is bullshit, Major," she said, standing. "If you think you can restrict my movements, you can kiss my –"

Without warning, Sarah felt two pairs of powerful hands grab her by the biceps and force her back down into her chair. "Agent Walker," Casey said with a sigh, "I've had a company of US Marine Corps military police tasked to us. Please don't make me use them."

Sarah looked to her left and to her right. Indeed, a man in desert camouflage with the USMC logo on their uniforms stood to either side of her. "Major Casey, this is completely unnecessary," Sarah pleaded. "I'm sure Lieutenant Bartowski can vouch for me…"

Her voice trailed off as she looked over to Chuck. He had a stricken look on his face, and he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. "Lieutenant Bartowski identified Director Nieto," Casey said softly. "It was his recommendation to restrict your movements."

Sarah's eyes widened, and she felt like she had been punched in the stomach. The room suddenly seemed like it was spinning, and her head felt like it was about to explode.

"Excuse me," she gasped. "I have to step out of the room for a moment."

Without being dismissed, she bolted from the room, the two Marines directly behind her. As quickly as she could, she made her way to the women's restroom. Barging into a stall, she collapsed to her knees and vomited.

Ever so slowly, the heaving of her torso turned into sobs. She hadn't been betrayed badly enough to be made ill since… well, never.

"You son of a bitch," she whimpered as she rested her head against the wall of the stall. "You fucking son of a bitch."

* * *

Chuck Bartowski hadn't seen Sarah Walker in nearly ten days. She had restricted herself to her quarters, and the military police were all too happy to make sure that she stayed there.

She refused to talk to him. She refused to see him. She refused to emerge from her quarters for time than was necessary to use the videoconference equipment to speak with Director Graham and General Beckman.

Chuck had never meant to betray Sarah. When he suggested that her movements be restricted, it wasn't because he suspected her. Quite the contrary – he suspected one of the two Army colonels, and was afraid that if one of them was involved with this para-military group that he had flashed on – "Fulcrum" – that one of them would try to "tie up" the loose CIA end.

However, he had no way to explain that to Sarah if she wouldn't talk to him. So he had gone to desperate measures.

Chuck had talked one of the NCOs in the kitchen into letting him borrowing one of his BDUs. He had added a pair of standard-issue Army birth-control devices – in other words, box-frame glasses – and a ridiculous looking fake mustache to his disguise.

He was now walking towards Sarah's quarters with her dinner. She had insisted on taking all her meals in her room since her self-imposed confinement began, and so this was routine. However, Chuck delivering the meal was anything but routine.

When he reached her room, he nodded to the two Marines on either side of the door. One of them reached out and opened the door, and he stepped inside. As the door closed behind him, Chuck set the tray down on the table near the door.

Sarah had her back to him. "Leave it and go," she said. Her voice sounded lifeless and dull, and Chuck wasn't going to let that continue.

"Like hell," he replied. Sarah's head jerked up at the sound of his voice. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

Without warning, she whirled around, and a shoe flew across the room toward Chuck. He yelped and ducked. The shoe flew past him and slammed into the door. "GET OUT!" Sarah roared.

"NO!" Chuck replied forcefully, as the door opened, and one of the MPs looked inside.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" he asked.

"Close the damn door!" Chuck yelled at the Marine.

The MP narrowed his eyes. "Sir, I asked if the lady was alright."

"Marine, I'm a lieutenant, and you're a sergeant. Shut the fucking door, that's a direct goddamn order!"

The MP looked hesitant, and for a moment, Chuck thought he was going to disobey him. But finally, the Marine growled, "Yes, sir," and retreated, closing the door.

Chuck whirled on Sarah, his blood boiling, his rage nearly equal to hers. "And you!" he snapped. "How about you stop acting like a goddamn child and talk to me like a fucking adult!"

Sarah's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Without warning, her shoulders slumped, and Chuck could see tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Oh, God," he gasped, the rage melting away. "Oh, no, oh, Jesus, what have I done?"

Sarah shook her head, the tears spilling out of her eyes. "Why did you tell them to restrict my movements, Chuck?" she asked him, a mix of grief and rage coloring her voice. "When did you stop trusting me?!"

"Never!" Chuck replied, his voice taking on a pleading tone. "I never stopped trusting you! It's everybody else I don't trust! I was afraid that somebody… that somebody would try to hurt you!"

Sarah was stunned. "Wait… you did this for my protection?" she asked, incredulous.

Chuck nodded. "Yeah."

Sarah shook her head, a small smile of disbelief forming. "Chuck," she replied, "didn't it ever occur to you that I've been trained to protect myself, and I would've been just fine?"

"I know that," Chuck shot back angrily. "But, dammit… shit!"

Sarah sighed. "Chuck… that brief moment, in the Bradley… that was… I don't even know how to describe it. All I know is that I want more of it."

Chuck's eyes lit up, but his face fell as Sarah raised a hand. "But, the thing is, you have to let me be me," she said. "That means you have to let me decide what's best for me, you have to let me protect myself. And I know you said you didn't stop trusting me, but it's obvious that you did if you didn't think I could take care of myself."

Chuck didn't say anything. By now, he was looking at the floor. "And there's one more thing, Chuck," Sarah said, her voice gentle. "The way you yelled at me a moment ago… I have been through too much of that in my life to accept it from somebody I care about as much as you." She sighed. "Chuck, I can't have something with a man who lets his temper take control like that."

He looked up from the floor, his eyes boring into hers, a look of grief taking over his face. "Dammit, Chuck," Sarah said, frustrated, "as much as I want to throw myself into your arms right now, I cannot let myself do that. Not until you learn to control your impulses."

"Until I learn to control my impulses?" Chuck asked, his voice breaking. "What the hell does that mean?"

Sarah sighed. "It means you took Trish Reitan back to your place the night you met her," she said quietly. "It means that the night you met me, you almost did the same thing. It means that when you were deployed to Iraq, you took a knee on the flight line and asked Trish to marry you. It means that when Trish dumped you, you went on a bender. It means that you took a Stinger missile and modified it without clearing it with your commander. It means that you kissed me in a Bradley in the middle of an insurgent assault. It means that the moment you found out that one of those Fulcrum men was CIA, you ordered protection on me without even thinking about how I would feel about it. It means that when you got mad at me, you exploded and yelled at me like my father used to."

Chuck looked stricken at that last part. "That's what I mean about experiencing too much of that in my life," Sarah said, almost whispering. "My father used to hit my mother and yell at me like I was so much trash. I am not going to let you do that to me."

Chuck's lips parted, but he was quiet for a moment. Finally, he spoke. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper. Turning around, he bolted from Sarah's quarters, the door slamming shut behind him.

* * *

Chuck and Sarah hadn't exactly stopped talking this time, but he had taken to acting like he was walking on a sheet of thin ice whenever he was around her. It was as though he was suddenly terrified of angering or disappointing Sarah again.

That was not what Sarah had hoped for. She had hoped to give her friend a little bit of insight into himself, to hopefully help him change an aspect of his life that was just going to lead to pain and suffering. Instead, she had watched a brash, ambitious Air Force lieutenant turn into a timid, overly cautious individual.

Chuck spent most of his time anymore working on either the StratoPig or the Bradley. He never seemed to want to talk to anybody, not even Sarah or Major Casey. It was as if the argument with Sarah had caused him to withdraw into himself and not come back.

Colonel Valenti was concerned about Chuck's emotional health, but he couldn't argue with his performance. The information that Chuck's brain contained had helped US troops curb insurgency in Iraq by a huge margin. The StratoPig had become the most efficient, most successful B-52 operating in Iraq, and the iPatriot-Bradley system was about to be kicked up the ladder to the Secretary of Defense.

And so Colonel Valenti had decided to submit Chuck's name for promotion to Captain, hoping that the increase in pay grade would help snap him out of his funk. He had intentionally not told Chuck about it, preferring to wait until the promotion boards came back before saying anything.

Three months after the attack on the camp, Colonel Valenti received an envelope from the Department of the Air Force with an official seal on the back. Opening the envelope, he withdrew a set of orders officially promoting Chuck Bartowski to Captain, United States Air Force.

Valenti grinned. Hopefully this surprise would wake Bartowski up.

* * *

**August 14****th****, 2006**

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Colonel Valenti said to the assembly before him. He had – for the first time since Camp Omaha had been established – set up a reviewing stand on the tarmac. Chairs had been set for all the personnel on base, including the Marine MPs and the Iraqi civilians who worked there.

With the StratoPig parked directly behind him, the Bradley on one side of it and an F-16D that Valenti had "borrowed" on the other, he cut a rather imposing figure. His Class A uniform was clean, pressed, sharp, and crisp, and the symbol of American might looming over his head made him look bigger than he really was.

"First things first," Valenti said. "As you can see, there is a Lockheed Fighting Falcon parked on the tarmac behind me. I have persuaded the powers that be to allow us to use this bird until further notice, because sometimes intelligence missions call for something slightly more, shall we say, discreet than the StratoPig."

A ripple of laughter ran through the assembly at his comment. "However, that is not the most important reason for gathering here tonight," Valenti continued. "There is one individual who has been involved with this project since its inception, who has truly dedicated nearly every waking hour to making it successful.

"Charles Irving Bartowski is, indeed, the centerpiece of Project Omaha," Colonel Valenti said. "However, he has risen above and beyond the call of duty, helping to establish a revolutionary missile system and modify a B-52 beyond Boeing's wildest dreams. Therefore, it is in recognition of his service, his ambition, and his contributions to the United States Air Force that I am proud to confer upon Lieutenant Bartowski the rank of Captain, United States Air Force, with all the responsibilities and privileges thereof."

Chuck's eyes practically bugged out of his head. His jaw dropped so far that he was certain it was going to hit the tarmac. "Captain Bartowski, if you could come to the reviewing stand so that you may receive your rank?"

Chuck rose and walked to the reviewing stand, almost in a daze. He barely noticed as Colonel Valenti pinned the twin silver bars to his uniform. In fact, Chuck would hardly remember the rest of the evening, so shocked was he to receive the promotion at the age of 25.

Later that evening, though, Colonel Valenti saw Chuck headed from the hangar toward the officers' quarters. He noticed that Chuck's back was straighter, his head held higher than it had been in weeks. The old fire was back in Lieut – _no, Captain Bartowski's eyes_, Colonel Valenti corrected himself.

To satisfy his own curiosity, Colonel Valenti surreptitiously followed Chuck into the barracks. He was almost disappointed when Chuck didn't go to Agent Walker's quarters, but he realized that not everything was going to happen all at once.

Valenti was just pleased that Bartowski was back to his old self. That was all he could ask.

* * *

"_Intersect coming online_."

General Beckman smiled. Years of culling information from Chuck Bartowski was finally coming to fruition. The software was finally working correctly, and the computer would revolutionize –

"_Fatal error. Abort, Retry, Ignore?_"

Beckman sighed. There were a few bugs yet to work out.


	20. Sleep In Heavenly Peace

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER 20: "Sleep In Heavenly Peace"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
Secretary Robert Gates:** Sir Derek Jacobi  
**Carrie Underwood:** Herself  
**Major Tim Riddle: **Harry Connick, Jr.  
**Captain Chuck Bartowski:** Zachary Levi  
**Major John Casey:** Adam Baldwin  
**Colonel Rick Valenti:** Tony Shalhoub  
**Agent Sarah Walker: **Yvonne Strahovski  
**Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd: **Naveen Andrews

* * *

**Christmas Eve, 2006**

The olive green painted Gulfstream VC-20 streaked across the Iraqi night sky at 35,000 feet. Though an aircraft from the 89th Airlift Wing out of Andrews Air Force Base, this particular Gulfstream had had its distinctive blue and white color scheme painted over in order to not attract any undue attention.

The occupants of the aircraft were either dozing or on their way to dreaming of sugarplums, but without warning, everybody was jostled awake as the aircraft began shaking and descending. One of the occupants narrowed his eyes and picked up a phone.

"What's going on up there?" he asked when the phone in the cockpit was answered. "We hit Santa's sleigh or something?"

"_No, Mr. Secretary_," the pilot replied, his voice tense. "_We seem to have suffered an engine failure. I can keep us in the air, but I'm gonna look for a base to set down at right now._"

Defense Secretary Robert Gates hung up the phone and looked over at the other VIP onboard the plane. "Looks like it might take a little longer to get to Germany than I thought, Miss Underwood," he said apologetically. Just confirmed six days before, Secretary Gates had joined Carrie Underwood for the last part of her USO tour in order to meet some of the troops.

She sighed. "That's alright," she replied. "I'd just like to be home for Christmas morning, you know?"

Gates nodded. "I understand."

In the cockpit, the pilot was looking worriedly at his charts. "Alright, we're gonna have to get this bird on the ground as soon as poss-"

Major Tim Riddle's voice cut off and his eyes widened as the gauges in front of him all dropped to zero. He could hear the tell-tale sound of the Gulfstream's only working engine winding down. "Oh, shit," he breathed. "Alright, try to get that engine restarted!"

As Riddle's co-pilot tried to restart the engine, Riddle took a deep breath. The Gulfstream was losing altitude like a falling rock, and he had to get the bird down. "Mayday, mayday," he said over the microphone, changing his transponder code to 7700. "This is Holiday-One, eight souls onboard, double engine failure, losing altitude rapidly."

There was no response. Riddle's stomach was starting to clench. "Repeat, mayday," he said again. "Holiday-One, double-engine failure, losing altitude rapidly."

* * *

Camp Omaha's F-16 was flying across the Iraqi night at nearly double the speed of sound. The CIA was of the opinion that Christmas Eve would be the perfect night for insurgents to launch an attack – everybody's guard would be down.

However, after nearly six hours of patrolling the skies over Iraq, Captain Chuck Bartowski's radio equipment hadn't picked up anything that triggered a flash. Major John Casey had just put the Fighting Falcon in a track for one final orbit over the patrol area when the radio started talking to them.

"_Repeat, mayday,_" they heard over the GUARD channel. "_Holiday-One, double-engine failure, losing altitude rapidly._"

"Holy shit," Chuck muttered. Keying his microphone, he said, "Freebird-One to Sentry-One, can you give us a location on Holiday-One?"

"_Please stand by_," he heard. There was a moment of silence, and then, "_Freebird-One, turn to a heading of one-five-two for intercept. Holiday-One is twelve miles from your position, flight level thirty-one._"

"Copy that," Chuck replied as Casey turned the F-16 to intercept the Gulfstream. Chuck switched his transmitter over to GUARD. "Holiday-One, this is Freebird-One. Switch to one-twenty-one point five."

Chuck heard nothing for a moment, but then a frightened but controlled voice started speaking. "_Freebird-One, this is Holiday-One. We are a VC-20 bound for Ramstein Air Force Base from Baghdad. We have double engine failure, losing altitude rapidly._"

"Roger that," John Casey said. "Holiday-One, Freebird-One is an F-16 Fighting Falcon out of Camp Omaha. We are rapidly closing on your position. Following intercept, we will need you to follow us and attempt to keep altitude for approximately fifteen miles. Do you copy?"

"_Copy that, Freebird-One. I think we can accomplish that._" There was another moment of silence. "_Uh, Freebird-One, I don't recognize Camp Omaha, nor do I see it on any maps._"

"Holiday-One, Camp Omaha is a classified research and development base. It won't appear on your charts or maps."

Casey pushed the afterburners to full stop and the Falcon's speed climbed to just over Mach 2. "Careful, Casey," Chuck warned. "You keep going like this and we'll flame out before we reach base."

"Keep your shorts on, Bartowski," Casey growled. "I'm gonna be cutting speed in a minute to match the Gulfstream's velocity."

A moment later, Chuck saw the Gulfstream's identification lights blinking in the night. "Tallyho," he said to Casey. "Target at one o'clock."

Casey gently banked the F-16 to the right, chopping its speed as he closed in on the VC-20. "Freebird-One to Holiday-One, we have visual," Chuck said over the GUARD channel. "We are joining on your starboard wing for inspection."

"_Copy that, Freebird-One_," the tightly controlled voice of Major Tim Riddle came back.

Chuck retrieved a powerful MagLite from the floor of the F-16 as Casey slid into position next to the still slowing, still descending Gulfstream. He shined the light the length of the aircraft, looking for problems –

Okay, that was a problem. The Gulfstream's main landing gear was down, but its nose gear was not. "Holiday-One, please cycle your landing gear," Chuck said. "Nose gear is not down."

"_Copy,_" Major Riddle replied. Chuck watched as the VC-20's main landing gear slowly raised up into the fuselage, and then dropped down again. This time, the nose gear came down as well.

"Holiday-One, you have nose gear this time," Chuck said, breathing a small sigh of relief.

"_Unfortunately, I've got a gear unsafe warning,_" he heard.

"Not good," Casey grunted from the front seat, switching his radio over to Camp Omaha's tower frequency. "Freebird-One to base, we are escorting Holiday-One to base. The flight is a VC-20 bound for Ramstein; they have dual engine failure and an unsafe nose gear warning."

"_Roger that, Freebird-One_," the voice of Colonel Valenti replied. "_Rolling the crash trucks._"

Casey switched back over to GUARD. "Holiday-One, Freebird-One is going to overtake. I need you to follow us, and call off your speed in five knot increments so that we can adjust to compensate."

"_Copy that_."

The next ten minutes were the longest ten minutes of Chuck Bartowski's life. The tension in the cockpit of the F-16 seemed thick enough to cut with a knife, interrupted only occasionally by Major Riddle's voice giving them the speed of the Gulfstream, followed by Casey's curt, "Roger."

Finally, the red lights at the end of Camp Omaha's runway came into view. "Freebird-One to Holiday-One," Chuck said, "we are going to go around. Go ahead and land, and keep your nose up as long as you can. Crash trucks are waiting at the end of the runway. Good luck."

"_Copy that, Freebird-One_," Major Riddle replied. "_Thank you._"

With that, Casey pushed the F-16's throttle forward. The General Electric F110 turbofan's thrust doubled in a split second, sending the Fighting Falcon rocketing away from the crippled Gulfstream. When Casey was a safe enough distance away, he punched the afterburner, bringing the F-16 up and over in a tight loop.

He pulled out of the loop just in time to see the Gulfstream's main trucks hit the runway with a puff of smoke. The nose of the Gulfstream stayed up for as long as Major Riddle could keep it airborne, but it finally touched down. The nose gear rolled for maybe a hundred feet before collapsing.

"Oh, shit," Chuck whispered, remembering the day that the EF-111 had crashed on that very runway. However, the Gulfstream was in a very different situation, its speed having been less than eighty knots when the nose gear collapsed. It continued to skid forward, slowing, and finally the nose dug into the concrete, causing the rear end of the jet to swing around in a lazy circle and come to a stop.

"How much runway would you say we've got?" Casey asked Chuck.

Chuck shrugged. "Maybe four thousand feet from the end to the Gulfstream?"

Casey smiled. "More than enough."

Chuck's eyes widened. "Casey, that violates every rule in the book."

Casey laughed. "And yet… I'm on final approach!"

Chuck didn't respond, simply gritting his teeth and clenching his fists as Casey cut the F-16s speed as low as he could get it. The Fighting Falcon touched down maybe ten feet beyond the runway boundary, and Casey stood on the brakes. "Flaps full!" he ordered Chuck.

Chuck looked at the back of Casey's head as if he thought Casey had lost his mind, but obeyed the order nonetheless. The deployment of the flaps made the F-16 decelerate so rapidly that Chuck almost banged his helmet on the back of Casey's seat.

When the F-16 had slowed to just under thirty knots, Casey took his feet off of the brakes, allowing the fighter to continue to roll down the runway toward the wounded Gulfstream. He brought the Fighting Falcon to a stop about fifty feet from the business jet.

Chuck popped the canopy as Casey shut down the F-16's engine. He could see the distinctive figure of Colonel Valenti running toward them.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" Valenti screamed at Casey as he approached. "You never, EVER land a fighter on a fouled runway!"

"That's what I told him," Chuck grumbled as Valenti tossed a rope ladder up toward them. Chuck caught it and hooked it on the edge of the cockpit. Swinging a leg over the side, he clambered out of the F-16, Casey following.

The two jogged over to the plane, just as Sarah Walker came out the door, helping one of the passengers. Chuck stopped dead in his tracks and his jaw fell open.

"Ho-ly shiiiit," he breathed. "Is that –"

The slightly shorter blonde smiled at him. "Yes, I'm Carrie Underwood," she replied.

Sarah did not seem amused. "Chuck, can you give me a hand here, please?"

"Yeah, um, of course!" Chuck replied. He walked over to the two women, and then stopped, a puzzled look on his face. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Sarah just rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You took basic crash rescue, CAPTAIN. Figure it out."

"I'm okay, really," Carrie said, but neither Chuck nor Sarah seemed to be listening.

"That was a rather sarcastic use of my rank, there, AGENT," Chuck shot back, an amused tone to his voice.

Sarah raised an eyebrow, but was unable to keep the ghost of a smile from coming to her lips. "Fine, then… minion."

Chuck narrowed his eyes and was about to respond when Carrie interrupted them. "I'm really okay, if the two of you want to go get a room."

Sarah blushed bright red, and Chuck's mind froze. He was desperately trying to formulate a smartass response when he heard Casey blurt, "Jesus Christ – uh, sir!"

Chuck whirled around and looked at Casey, who had gone to ramrod-straight attention and was holding a salute. Chuck turned, following Casey's gaze –

To see Colonel al-Fahd helping Defense Secretary Robert Gates out of the plane. "Good Lord," Chuck gasped, snapping to attention and saluting.

"At ease, Major, Captain," Gates told them. "You must be Bartowski," he said, causing Chuck's eyes to widen. "Yes, I've heard of you, Captain. You're the focus of one of the most important projects on the Department of Defense's plate."

"Sir," Colonel al-Fahd interrupted, "we really need to get you, Ms. Underwood, and the pilots to the medical station and make sure you're alright."

Gates nodded. "Alright, Colonel." He turned his attention back to Chuck. "We'll talk more once I've been given a clean bill of health, Captain."

Chuck nodded, dumbfounded. As Sarah and Colonel al-Fahd loaded Secretary Gates and Carrie Underwood into the ambulance, he just stared after them in shock.

Casey smiled. "Starstruck much, Captain?"

* * *

"Alright," Colonel Valenti said, addressing Chuck and Casey. "Here's the situation. Secretary Gates and Ms. Underwood were supposed to be stopping for a brief layover in Germany, just long enough to refuel and restock the Gulfstream, and then they were supposed to be heading to Andrews. However, that Gulfstream is not flying out of here without some major repair."

He folded his hands, a pensive look on his face. "So, we need to figure out a way to get them back to the States rapidly. Suggestions?"

Chuck crossed his arms in front of his chest. "How quickly can we get the Gulfstream off the runway?"

Valenti shrugged. "An hour… why?"

"Well," Chuck said, "if we can get a tanker out of Maine to meet us about two-thirds of the way, then we can take the StratoPig and have them there by Christmas morning."

Valenti raised an eyebrow. "That's certainly not a bad idea," he mused. "Let me double-check with Colonel al-Fahd, make sure with him that the people who were on that plane are fit to travel, but I think we can do that."

He stood and headed for the door, and then stopped and turned around. "In fact, how would the two of you feel about a couple days leave?"

Chuck and Casey looked at each other, and then back at Valenti. "Wait, you mean I'd be able to keep going, to Los Angeles?" Chuck said. "Spend Christmas with my family?"

Valenti shrugged. "Why not. You just can't take the StratoPig to L.A."

* * *

Six hours later, the StratoPig was over the dark Atlantic Ocean, heading westbound toward the United States. Chuck was sitting at his console, although he was playing Solitaire on the PC – he didn't figure there would be any intelligence coming through the system in the middle of the night over the ocean.

As he was tiredly staring at the screen, trying to figure out what to do next, he heard a voice behind him. "Seven of hearts on the eight of clubs," it suggested.

Chuck practically jumped out of his seat as he turned around to see Secretary Gates behind him. "Sorry about that, Captain," Gates said with a chuckle. "Shouldn't have snuck up on you like that."

"That's quite alright, sir," Chuck said. "Uh, how can I help you?"

Gates inclined his head back toward the bomb bay, where a temporary passenger cabin had been set up. "Come talk with me about this aircraft, and about your iPatriot system."

Chuck's eyebrows went up. "Yes, sir!"

Chuck spent nearly an hour talking with Secretary Gates, and probably would've kept talking to him had Carrie Underwood not opened up her guitar case. Chuck stopped talking as she began to gently strum her guitar, playing a distinctly familiar set of chords.

Chuck looked to Carrie's left, and saw the back of Sarah's head. She was sitting by herself, so Chuck rose and headed forward toward Sarah as Carrie began to sing.

_Silent night, holy night… all is calm, all is bright._

Chuck gently sat down next to Sarah. "Hey," he said softly, buckling his seatbelt.

She turned to him and smiled tiredly. "Hi," she replied quietly.

_Round yon virgin mother, and child… holy infant, so tender and mild._

Chuck slipped his arm around Sarah's shoulders, and she snuggled up against him. She made a contented noise as she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

_Sleep in heavenly peace… sleep in heavenly peace._

"Merry Christmas, Sarah."

"Merry Christmas, Chuck."

* * *

**_Author's note:_** _Carrie Underwood actually did go on a USO tour in Iraq in December of 2006. In addition, Robert Gates was confirmed as Secretary of Defense on December 18th, 2006. He did not actually go to Iraq during the Christmas season of 2006 - that we know of. However, I figure that if PRESIDENT BUSH could sneak into Iraq, then so can the Secretary of Defense._


	21. Terminal Phase

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – "Terminal Phase"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster  
Captain Devin Woodcomb, MD – Ryan McPartlin  
Captain Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Taxi cab driver – Dennis Hopper  
Agent Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer  
Director Arthur Graham – Tony Todd  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright – Richard Belzer

* * *

**Christmas Day, 2006**

Ellie Bartowski and Devin Woodcomb were celebrating Christmas together. Nobody else was there.

And as a result, they hadn't found it necessary to clothe themselves when they got out of bed that morning. Before going to bed on Christmas Eve, they had made sure that all the blinds were closed, and that the heat was turned up. That way, when they got out of bed on Christmas morning, the apartment was nice and warm, and they spend Christmas _au naturel_.

"Certainly gives me better access," Devin growled as he kissed Ellie's neck.

She giggled. "Are you the ghost of Christmas Future or something?" she asked, a naughty tone in her voice. "Because I gotta tell you… you're making me all tingly."

"Well," Devin replied, pulling back and looking at Ellie hungrily, "Santa's got something for you. He's ESPECIALLY got something for you if you've been nau-"

Before Devin could finish, there was a knocking at the front door. Ellie and Devin both froze and stared at each other. "You didn't invite anybody over, did you?" Ellie asked worriedly.

"No way," Devin replied, shaking his head. "I have no idea who's here."

Ellie blew out her breath, and then a horrified look came over her face. "Oh God," she groaned, "please don't let that be Morgan."

"Crap," uttered Devin. Standing up from the couch, he dashed down the hallway. He returned in a wife-beater and jeans, and tossed Ellie a t-shirt and a pair of her shorts.

Ellie quickly got dressed, and then crossed to the door. She yanked it open, prepared to give chew Morgan's ear off –

"Hi, sis," Chuck said with an ear-to-ear smile.

Ellie's jaw practically fell off. "Oh my God!" she squealed, wrapping her little brother in a bone-crushing hug. "What are you doing here?!"

Chuck shrugged. "We had to fly the StratoPig back to the States for something," he said. "So, the Colonel gave me a couple days' leave to come see you guys."

"CHUCKSTER!" Devin boomed from the kitchen, heading toward the door. "Long time no – holy crap!"

He froze, staring at the collar of Chuck's uniform. "I nearly got blinded by the reflection from those DOUBLE bars, bro!" he exclaimed, looking up at Chuck in amazement. "When did they bump you up to Captain?"

Ellie pulled away from Chuck. She looked from his collar to his face. "You didn't tell me you get promoted!" she said accusingly.

"Sorry," Chuck replied with another shrug. "It… it wasn't that big a deal."

"Not a big deal!" Devin shot back. "I no longer outrank you! What a horrifying thought!"

"Shut up, Captain," Chuck said mockingly.

"You first, Captain," Devin said, trying desperately to suppress a smile.

"Whatever you say, Captain."

Devin's face broke out into a big grin. "Oh Captain…"

Chuck grinned back. "My Captain!"

Devin shook his head and laughed. "I'm too old for this shit."

Ellie looked from her brother to her boyfriend. "What the HELL are the two of you going on about?"

Chuck laughed. "_Lethal Weapon 4_, Ellie. You should watch it some time."

"Pretty good," Devin added. "Mel Gibson runs Jet Li through with a big metal stake. Underwater, no less."

"Wow," Ellie deadpanned. "Merry Christmas and all that."

* * *

Vancouver International Airport was practically abandoned on the morning of Christmas Day. With no luggage to retrieve, Sarah Walker quickly made her way through the airport and outside to the cab stand.

A solitary yellow taxi cab sat by the curb. The driver leaned against his back bumper, smoking a cigarette. When he saw Sarah approaching, he tossed the cigarette into the gutter and went around the side of the car, opening the back door for her.

As Sarah buckled in and adjusted herself, the driver went back around and got into his seat. "Where to, ma'am?" he asked.

"1615 Pierard Road," Sarah answered.

The drive up to the northern suburbs of Vancouver took just over half an hour. The entire drive, Sarah was lost in thought. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to bring Chuck here some day, to introduce him to her family. She knew they'd like him. Well, everybody but her dad would, but then, her dad had never liked any of the boys she had brought home.

The taxi turned left off of Westover Road, and Sarah sat up, looking directly at the house she had grown up in –

But something was wrong. The house was dark. No cars sat in the driveway. The front yard was overgrown with dead weeds, and a "For Sale" sign hung from a post out front.

"What the hell?" Sarah muttered, an icy cold hand of fear gripping at her.

The cab driver pulled over, and looked at Sarah in confusion. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yeah," Sarah replied, her voice uncertain. "Can you hang around a minute?"

"No problem," the cab driver said.

Sarah opened the door of the taxi and got out. She walked up the driveway to the house she had grown up in. It was quiet – too quiet. On Christmas morning, it should've been a beehive of activity, with the entire Faust family converging on the house from all over British Columbia.

The only sound she heard, though, was the creaking of the For Sale sign as it swung in the wind. Sarah walked up to the front window, and looked in –

Nothing. The house was completely empty.

Sarah could feel her hands starting to shake. Very deliberately, she walked back to the taxi. The driver rolled down his window as she approached.

"Do you have a cell phone I can borrow?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

"Yeah," the driver said, holding it out. "Are you alright?"

Sarah nodded distractedly, trying to dredge up a number from memory. Squeezing her eyes shut and concentrating, she punched in what she was pretty sure was her older sister's cell phone number.

The phone rang once, twice, three times –

"_Hello?_"

Sarah's eyes flew open. "Rachel?"

"_KAREN?!_"

Sarah blew her breath out in a huge sigh of relief. "Where is everybody?" she asked. "What happened? Why is the house for sale?"

There was silence at the other end. "Rachel?"

"_Karen, didn't the CSIS pass our message on to you?_"

Sarah shook her head. "I've been out of the country, Rachel… they didn't really have a way to get in touch with me."

Sarah heard her sister sigh at the other end. "_Karen… Mom had breast cancer. She died four months ago._"

* * *

Chuck was truly happy that he was at home for Christmas. He hadn't gotten to spend Christmas at home since his senior year at Stanford, and right at the moment, there was nobody he would rather spend Christmas with than Ellie and Devin.

Chuck was shooting the breeze with Devin, basically catching him up as much as he could on what had been going on with Project Omaha as of late, when the phone rang. "I'll get it," Ellie announced, though neither Chuck nor Devin really heard her.

Ellie walked into the hallway and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"_Is… is Chuck there?_" The voice at the other end sounded like a very upset woman.

Ellie narrowed her eyes. "Uh, yeah, yes he is."

She walked into the living room, phone in hand. "Chuck, why is there a crying woman on the phone asking for you?"

Chuck's eyes widened in confusion. "I have no earthly idea," he replied, standing and taking the phone from Ellie. "Hello?"

"_Chuck?_"

It was Sarah.

"Sarah! Are you alright?" Chuck wandered toward the back of the house, heading toward the guest room where he had always slept when he was home from Stanford.

"_Chuck… my mom died._"

Chuck's hand flew to his mouth. "Oh my God," he whispered. "Oh, Sarah, I am so sorry."

"_It was four months ago, Chuck,_" Sarah sobbed. "_She had breast cancer… my family told the CS… uh, CIA, but they never told me._"

Chuck noticed that Sarah had hesitated when saying "CIA", but he decided that just then was not the time to mention it. "Sarah… where are you? I can come to wherever you are."

"_No, Chuck… I wish you could, but you can't… it would blow my CIA cover._"

Chuck frowned. "I can't know where you live?"

He heard Sarah sob at the other end. "_Chuck, it's for your own protection._"

Chuck shook his head. "That's ridiculous, Sarah. You can tell me where you live. I will go get on a plane right now. You shouldn't be by yourself right now."

"_Chuck_," Sarah said, a heartbreaking tone to her voice, "_I can't let you do that… if you got hurt because of me, I couldn't live with myself._"

Chuck sighed. This was tearing him apart. "Sarah…"

"_Chuck… don't._"

He took a deep breath. "Okay," he finally said. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"_I will_."

The call was disconnected without another word from Sarah. Chuck walked out into the hallway, placed the phone back in its charger, and wordlessly strode into the living room. Sitting down on the couch, he stared at the wall.

Devin looked at him curiously. "Sarah? Sarah Walker?"

Chuck nodded, but didn't say anything. "That didn't sound particularly like a 'Merry Christmas' sort of phone call," Devin said quietly.

"Her mom died four months ago," Chuck replied. "And the government never told her."

Devin didn't say anything further.

* * *

Mountain View Cemetery was a desolate, frozen place. Sarah was literally the only person there on Christmas Day.

She followed the directions that her sister had given her, heading deep into the cemetery. The paths were muddy after repeated snowfall and plowing, and snow covered most of the cemetery.

Finally, Sarah reached the plot. The headstone had about eight inches of snow piled on top of it.

Sarah reached out and brushed the snow off, and just stared at the headstone. _Lynn McKenzie Faust_, it said. _February 13__th__, 1959 – August 11__th__, 2006_.

She just stood there for a moment, staring. She still couldn't believe it. Lynn Faust had always been a fighter, a woman full of energy. Even when Sarah's father was at his abusive worst, Lynn had never given in. She had never let the man get her down.

But now she was gone. Claimed by a horrible killer. And nobody had told Sarah.

Sarah continued to stand there, looking at her mother's grave. She didn't say anything, couldn't say anything.

After she had been standing there for fifteen minutes, the cold finally got the best of her. Her feet were starting to go numb. And so, Sarah reached inside her coat and withdrew the flower she had gotten on the way to the cemetery.

The bright red of the poinsettia stood out in sharp contrast with the snow. Poinsettias had always been her mother's favorite flowers, and at Christmastime, they were readily available.

And as Sarah walked back toward the gates of the cemetery, toward the waiting taxi cab, she realized something –

Christmas Day. It was her twenty-sixth birthday.

She sighed. "Happy birthday to me."

* * *

**January 2007**

Bryce Larkin had been summoned to the office of the director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Bryce had not been to see Director Graham very many times, and so he was a little nervous.

He timidly knocked on the director's door. "ENTER!" he heard from within.

Bryce slowly turned the doorknob and entered the director's office. He walked in – and froze.

Director Graham was there, seated behind his desk – and Colonel Wainwright was perched on the edge of Director Graham's desk. Bryce's eyes widened and his heart plummeted directly through the floor.

"Have a seat, Agent Larkin," Director Graham said with a smile, indicating the chair in front of his desk. Then, as Bryce sat, Graham added, "Or should I say… Mister Bates?"

Bryce's vision began to go blurry. "Oh, no," he whispered. He felt like he was going to pass out.

"Agent Larkin!" Graham said. "It's alright!"

Bryce looked up at Graham in shock. "What?"

Graham smiled. "Agent Larkin, how do you think Fulcrum has been able to get away with so much?"

Bryce's mouth fell open. "You – you're – you – Ful –"

Graham nodded. "Yes, yes I am."

Bryce shook his head. "So… what do you want? I haven't heard anything from anybody in months!"

Graham nodded again. "I'm aware, Agent Larkin. However, we're about to move into the terminal phase of our plan."

"What does that mean?"

"It's a two-part plan," Graham replied. "When Colonel Wainwright here finishes his part, he'll send you a signal. When you receive that signal, your mission is to destroy the Intersect computer at Fort Meade."

Bryce's eyes widened in horror. "Do what?!"

"It has to go, Agent Larkin," Director Graham said firmly. "Now, it's not even online yet, so it shouldn't be an issue for you."

Bryce shook his head. "I don't even know where I would begin!"

"Come, now, Agent Larkin," Colonel Wainwright said, his voice oily. "You most certainly have access to all the tools you would need to destroy a simple computer, do you not?"

Bryce rested his head in his hands, not looking up for a moment. He wished he had never gotten involved with these nutjobs.

"Alright," he finally said, a defeated tone to his voice as he looked up. "So what's Part One, Colonel?"

Wainwright smiled, and it was the most terrifying smile Bryce had ever seen. "Why, I'm going to destroy Project Omaha."

* * *

**February 13****th****, 2007**

When the StratoPig had landed at Andrews Air Force Base in the wee hours of Christmas morning, Chuck had been hoping that on the way back, he would be able to talk with Sarah about where things were going between the two of them. However, then she had found out that her mother had died, and Chuck had decided that the last thing she needed was him trying to talk to her about relationships on the flight back to Iraq.

Since they got back, she had been somewhat distant – not just from Chuck, but from everybody. She seemed to be having a very difficult time dealing with and processing her mom's death. Chuck, for one, wished that there was something he could do, but he didn't really remember his dad's death well enough to relate, and his mom – well, she hadn't died, she had just abandoned him and Ellie.

On this Sunday afternoon, it was bitterly cold at Camp Omaha. The sun was directly overhead, but it was also a winter's day in the middle of the Iraqi desert – quite unpleasant. Chuck was doing his best to stay indoors as much as possible, but with a big test flight coming up the next day in the StratoPig, he was having to do some outdoors work.

However, toward the end of the afternoon, he decided he needed to go talk to Sarah. He couldn't stand watching her crumble inward on herself.

He knocked on the door to her quarters, and when she answered, her eyes were red, her face streaked with tears. "May I come in?" he asked quietly.

She nodded and stepped aside. He entered her room, and she closed the door behind him.

Chuck sat down on Sarah's bed, and she sat down next to him. Leaning against him, she rested her head on his shoulder, and he instinctively put his right arm around her.

"Today's Mom's birthday," Sarah said quietly.

Chuck closed his eyes and sighed. He wished he could think of something to say, anything that would make Sarah feel better. However, he could think of nothing better than, "I'm sorry, Sarah."

"Thank you, Chuck," she replied, turning her head and hugging him gently. "I'm sorry I've been so distant for the last six weeks… this has just been really hard for me."

"I know," Chuck said, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her fully into his embrace. "I think I know of something we can do that will be fun, though."

Sarah pulled away slightly, and looked up at Chuck. Despite the redness of her eyes, there was the slightest smile on her face. "Oh really?" she asked. "What's that?"

"Wellll," Chuck replied, a gentle teasing note in his voice. "Tomorrow IS Valentine's Day… and I think that after the StratoPig's test flight, you and I should go on a date."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "A date, in the middle of the Iraqi desert?" she asked. "I think that all this time out here has caused you to finally lose your mind, Captain."

"Quite the contrary," Chuck replied, a grin coming to his face. "I have clearance from Colonel Valenti to, uh, 'borrow' the F-16 tomorrow night. Have you ever been up in an F-16?"

"I… have not," Sarah replied slowly. "And just where would we be going in this F-16?"

"Ah, that would spoil the surprise," Chuck reprimanded her.

Sarah's smile grew wider, stretching across her face. "Well… if Colonel Valenti says it's okay, then… I guess I'd be up for it."

"Fantastic," Chuck said, his face looking like he'd just won the lottery.

As he continued looking down at Sarah, her smile grew slightly bashful. However, she couldn't contain the unexpected wellspring of happiness she felt bubbling up inside of her. She looked downward for a moment, and then looking back up at Chuck, she lifted herself up ever so slightly. Putting a hand behind his head, she pulled him toward her.

When their lips finally met, it was different from any of the times they had kissed before. This one had a slight charge to it, as if they both had electric currents running through them. It spoke of three and a half years of running around each other, trying to figure each other out. It spoke of a deep bond, a friendship beyond measure that had developed between them. But most of all, it spoke of love.

Sarah ran her hands through Chuck's hair as he took charge of the kiss. He leaned her back on her bed as their tongues intertwined with one another. She moaned slightly as he pulled her tightly against her –

And then she broke off, pushing him gently up and away. Chuck looked down at her in confusion. "What?"

Sarah smiled mischievously. "Don't you think this would be a bit more fun… after a flight in an F-16?"

"Oh, come on!" Chuck protested. "You can't do this to me!"

Sarah sat up and leaned toward him. She kissed him again, and then pulled back. "Oh, but yes I can, and as far as I can tell, you're gonna deal with it."

Chuck tried to frown, but wasn't very successful, the smile showing through in his eyes. "Oh, alright," he mock grumbled. "I suppose I can wait until then."

Sarah smiled and rose from her bed. She walked Chuck to the door, but before she opened it, she kissed him one more time. The kiss lasted for nearly two minutes, and when she pulled away, she was short of breath.

"Wow," Chuck breathed. "Is that what I can expect tomorrow night?"

Sarah smiled coyly. "That's just the tip of the iceberg."

Chuck shook his head. "I'm never gonna be able to concentrate on the StratoPig's tests tomorrow."

Sarah's smile got bigger. "I know… and I can't wait."


	22. Code Black

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**CHAPTER 22: "Code Black"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Captain Chuck Bartowski: Zachary Levi  
Major John Casey: Adam Baldwin  
Lt. Colonel Marcus Wainwright: Richard Belzer  
Lt. Colonel Padraig al-Fahd: Naveen Andrews  
Dr. Thomas Novak: Jonathan Frakes  
Colonel Rick Valenti: Tony Shalhoub  
Agent Sarah Walker: Yvonne Strahovski  
Director Arthur Graham: Tony Todd  
General David Petraeus: himself  
General D. Louisa Beckman: Bonita Fredericy

* * *

The morning of Monday, February 14th, dawned slowly over the Iraqi desert. The first pink tendrils of sunlight were just beginning to find their way across the sky, barely giving illumination to the figure crossing the tarmac below.

Chuck Bartowski was up early. That day was to be the most important test of both the StratoPig and himself yet. The test flight was to be four hours long, and throughout it, Chuck would be exposed to different audio, video, and radar signals to trigger flashes. The true test was to be his response time to the flashes and how long it took the StratoPig and her crew to execute the mission requirements based on the flash.

Chuck was simultaneously nervous and excited – excited because he KNEW that this test was going to be the substantiation of nearly four years worth of work. Today would prove not only that the B-52 was still a usable and highly capable military action platform, but also that Chuck Bartowski had turned himself, essentially, into a high-powered human computer.

He was also VERY nervous because of the people who would be watching the test. An E-3 Sentry would be orbiting over the test site, with observers watching and evaluating not only the performance of the StratoPig, but Chuck's personal performance as well. Those observers included Secretary Gates, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, USMC General Peter Pace, and General David Petraeus, the new commander of coalition forces in Iraq.

Chuck knew that he had to stay calm during the flight. Colonel al-Fahd and Doctor Novak would be constantly monitoring him – al-Fahd from the second navigator's seat, Novak from the ground control station – and at the first sign of overstress on either Chuck's heart or his nervous system, the test would be ended. As far as Chuck was concerned, anything less than a perfect flight would be a failure.

But Chuck had another reason to be both excited and nervous. Colonel Valenti had promised him that as long as the test flight wasn't a total disaster, he could not only take Sarah for a flight in the F-16, but he could TAKE THE REST OF THE WEEK OFF. And so Chuck had arranged for a flight plan from Camp Omaha to Athens, where Colonel Valenti had pulled some strings and gotten him the next four nights at the Westin Athens resort.

Oddly enough, Chuck was finding himself more nervous about taking Sarah to Greece than about the test flight. Maybe it was because a "dance" that had taken the last three and a half years was finally culminating – or maybe it was that Sarah meant so very much to him, and Chuck didn't want to do ANYTHING that could possibly screw it up.

Right at the moment, though, Chuck had a flight to prepare for. Looking up at the gleaming black bomber that still said "YHИTEД CTATEC AИP ФOPЦE" on its side, Chuck smiled.

It was time for the StratoPig to shine.

* * *

"Freebird-One to control, requesting clearance for takeoff."

"_Freebird-One, please stand by._

"_Control to Intersect, status?_"

"Intersect is go for flight."

"_Control to Med-One, status?_"

"Medical is go for flight."

"_Control to Med-Two, status?_"

"Psych is go for flight.

"_Control to Sentry-One, status?_"

"Sentry-One is standing by, ready for observation."

"_Freebird-One, this is Control. All posts are go, you are cleared for takeoff._"

John Casey smiled and leaned back in his seat. "Co-pilot to Nav, clear?"

"Clear to go," Chuck replied over the interphone.

"Bombs, clear?"

Colonel al-Fahd smiled and shook his head. "Bombs clear."

"Co-pilot to pilot, we are ready to rock and roll."

"Yeehaw," Colonel Valenti deadpanned. "Let's kick this Pig."

This was test number one. "Alright," Chuck said. "There are certain instructions for takeoff. Colonel, when you reach the hold line, I need you and Major Casey to stand on those toe brakes as hard as you can."

"Copy that, Nav," Valenti replied, rolling to a stop at the end of the runway. "Holding on brakes."

"Alright," Chuck replied. "Bring throttles up to… forty percent."

Valenti and Casey each moved four throttles forward, stopping when they reached two-fifths. "Hold until engines reach max RPM for this setting," Chuck instructed them.

After a few seconds, Valenti came back. "Engines at max RPM for forty percent," he reported.

"Okay," Chuck said, taking a deep breath. "Casey, I need you to call off speed for me in five knot increments. When I give instructions, they need to be followed immediately in order for this first test to be successful."

"Copy that," Valenti said, over Casey's, "Roger."

Chuck nodded. "Release brakes!"

Valenti and Casey both released their brakes, and the B-52 leapt forward. "Ten knots," Casey called out. "Fifteen… twenty… five… thirty…"

"Throttles to sixty percent!"

The B-52 moved forward even more quickly. "Sixty… five… seventy…"

"Throttles full!"

"One hundred… five…"

"ENGAGE AFTERBURNERS!"

Valenti punched in the afterburners on engines number one and eight. The B-52 shot forward. "One thirty… five… forty… ROTATE!"

The fifty-two year old B-52G Stratofortress departed the runway, sailing airborne. "Freebird-One to Control," Chuck called out. "How'd we do?"

"_It'll be a moment for exact figures,_" the voice of Colonel Wainwright replied. "_Initial estimates have you well within the test parameters of four thousand feet…_"

There was silence at the other end, and then Wainwright's voice came back, sounding stunned. "_Control to Freebird-One… you successfully achieved takeoff in two thousand, six hundred seventy-two feet._"

Chuck's eyes practically popped out of his head. He was silent for a moment, and then he leapt out of his seat. "HOT FUCKIN' DAMN!" he shouted, causing Colonel al-Fahd to laugh.

"Good job, Bartowski," Casey congratulated him over the interphone. "Let's get to work on the next test."

* * *

Sarah had been sitting in the control room for nearly three hours, watching the tests, fascinated. She was amazed by the efficiency with which Chuck, Casey, Valenti, and al-Fahd could run the B-52, but she supposed that they HAD been working together on that airplane for nearly three years – it made sense.

As the time for the StratoPig's return grew closer, though, Sarah started anticipating what came next. She decided that she wanted to go get cleaned up – Chuck might need an hour or so to get cleaned up himself after the flight ended, but she wanted to greet him, on the flight line, in a little black dress, and give him a big wet, sloppy kiss. She really didn't care who saw.

"Doctor Novak," she said, approaching the CIA doctor, "I'll be in my quarters if anybody needs me."

"Will do, Agent Walker," he replied, distractedly, continuing to watch Chuck's vitals.

It was all Sarah could do not to skip down the barracks hallway as she approached her quarters. Once there, she stripped off the BDU, dropping her clothes on the floor as she headed into the bathroom. She stepped into the shower and let it get good and hot, luxuriating a little longer than usual under the steaming stream of water.

When Sarah was done in the shower, she donned the skimpiest lingerie she had in Iraq with her, and then set about getting everything else ready. She blow-dried her hair, but didn't straighten it yet. She pulled her dress on first, and then went back to her hair, straightening it until it cascaded over her shoulders like a golden waterfall.

She spent more time on her makeup than she had since she had joined the CSIS in 2002. When she finished, she looked herself over in the mirror.

Sarah Walker definitely approved.

With a smile, she headed toward the door, and opened it –

Immediately, she stopped. Something was wrong. She had no idea what, but Sarah knew something was wrong.

Stepping slowly back into her quarters, Sarah retrieved her Colt M1911 handgun. Turning the safety off, she stepped back into the hallway, the gun at the ready.

She headed down the corridor toward the mess hall first. As she got closer, she began to notice a smell. A smell of copper and ozone.

The smell of blood.

Sarah reached the mess hall and turned in through the door –

She breathed in sharply as her eyes widened in horror. The twenty-five NCOs, Marine Corps MPs, and Iraqi civilians who worked at the base had all been lined up against the wall and shot, execution style. Every single one of them was crumpled, dead, on the floor.

"Oh my God," Sarah breathed. She had to get to the control room.

Turning around, she dashed out of the mess hall, running down the corridor toward the control room – no small feat considering the heels she was wearing. When she reached the control room, though, it was abandoned – save for one person.

Doctor Novak was slumped over his console. Sarah ran across the room to him, and lifted his head. A single bullet hole was leaking blood from the middle of his forehead, and his lifeless eyes stared at Sarah in shock and dismay.

"This can't be happening," she whispered. "No, no, no…"

Looking around frantically, she located the microphone to call the StratoPig. Lifting it, she said, "Control to Freebird-One, Freebird-One, please come in IMMEDIATELY!"

There was no answer. "Control to Freebird-One –"

"_Might as well knock it off, Agent Walker,_" she heard a voice say.

"Oh my God," she whispered. It was Director Graham. "Director, what's going on?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"_Do you really even need to ask?_"

The microphone slipped from Sarah's nerveless hands. She turned and ran from the control room as fast as she could go. She had to get to the hangar. She had to get into an armored vehicle and get as far away from Camp Omaha as she could. She had to figure out how to get in touch with the StratoPig before they flew back and landed right in the middle of an ambush.

As Sarah ran in the door of the hangar, though, she heard a gunshot. Sarah twisted her body in an attempt to make herself a smaller target, but also managed to twist her ankle as one of her heels collapsed under her. Cursing, she propelled herself behind a HMMWV, throwing herself flat on the cement floor.

"Come out, Walker!" Director Graham's voice called. Gone was the friendliness she was used to in his voice. Gone was the warmth he had used when he recruited her. Now his voice was devoid of feeling, cold.

Sarah didn't say anything. Creeping toward the back of the Hummer, she quietly crawled up into the back end, lifting the tailgate flap. Ever so slowly, she moved through the Hummer, getting inch by inch closer to the driver's seat.

"Walker… I know you're in here!" Director Graham yelled. "There's no use in hiding – I will find you!"

She still didn't say anything as she moved into the driver's seat and crouched downward, peeking over the dashboard. "Project Omaha is a perversion, a bastardization of the American way!" Graham shouted. "You're guilty of helping to try to destroy this country!"

There. Graham was finally coming into her field of vision. She'd wait till he got a little closer…

"Agent Walker, you're going to die. The question is, are you going to face it like a CIA agent, or like a coward?"

FINALLY. He was directly in front of the Hummer, not even twenty feet away. Sitting up straight, she flipped the ignition switch. The Hummer roared to life, startling Graham. Sarah jammed it into drive, and savagely stomped on the gas pedal.

Graham barely had enough of a chance to aim his gun at the windshield before Sarah plowed directly into him. She watched him disappear under the front end, and then felt a pair of bumps as the front, and then the back left wheel rolled over him.

Sarah brought the Hummer to a stop and put it back in park. Getting out, she looked toward Director Graham –

He was definitely dead. His skull had been crushed when the back wheel of the Hummer had run over him.

"Fucking traitor," Sarah breathed – and then she froze.

She hadn't even bothered to look around the hangar when she was trying to hide, but as she did so now, a horrifying realization came to her.

The iPatriot-Bradley was missing.

* * *

"_Captain Bartowski, that was INCREDIBLY impressive_," the voice of General David Petraeus sounded in Chuck's ears.

"Thank you, sir," Chuck replied. "This whole crew has been working on getting these tests down for a long time."

"_I can tell, Captain, but were it not for you, none of this would have been successful._"

Chuck smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"_So, Captain,_" Petraeus continued, "_how would you feel about doing this in the long term? Making the Air Force a permanent career?_"

Chuck sighed. "I'm really not sure, sir," he replied. "My four year commitment is almost over, and I've spent more than three of those years in Iraq. I'd really like to possibly spend some time back in the States."

"_Understandable_," Petraeus acknowledged. "_I'll tell you, though, Captain – your ambition, your skill, your performance – I'd say you're looking at the possibility of flag rank within the next ten to twelve years._"

"Really," Chuck said quietly. Flag rank? A general? The thought had never even occurred to him. "Well, General, I'll certainly… think it…"

Chuck's voice trailed off. He was getting a very strange warning on his console. A warning he should not have been getting. "Uh, General, let me get right back to you, sir."

Switching the channel on his microphone, Chuck went back to interphone. "Pilot, this is Nav… I don't know what's going on, but I'm picking up a track signal from either a Patriot or an iPatriot system."

"_What?_" Valenti replied, surprised. "_Are you sure?_"

"One hundred percent positive, sir," Chuck answered, his eyes widening. "Uh, and it's got lock-on, sir… this is definitely an iPatriot system!"

"_Bartowski… we're on final approach. Maybe they're just using us for practice?_"

"I don't think so, sir," Chuck said. "It hasn't been approved for – OH SHIT! MISSILE LAUNCH! EVASIVE MANEUVERS NOW NOW NOW!!"

* * *

Sarah Walker had the accelerator of the Hummer to the floor as it barreled across the desert. The GPS locator in the HMMWV had given her the location of the Bradley, and she was headed that direction as fast as she could go.

She could see it now – about half a mile away, still. Praying for more speed, she pointed the Hummer directly at the Bradley.

When she was a hundred feet away, though, to her horror, a missile sped upward from the top of the Bradley. "Oh no," she gasped, her heart sinking. She brought the Hummer sliding to a halt next to the Bradley.

Jumping out, she ran around the armored vehicle and wrenched open the hatch. Colonel Wainwright sat at the controls. His head snapped around at the unexpected intruder, a look of shock on his face –

And that was the last look that would ever be on his face, as Sarah's gun discharged a forty-five caliber round directly into his left eye. Brains and blood spattered from the back of Wainwright's head onto the wall of the Bradley, and he slumped forward on the console.

Sarah backed away from the carnage, and looked upward. The smoke trail of the iPatriot was barely visible, but even as she prayed that it wouldn't work quite right, she realized that the missile was headed straight for the looming StratoPig.

* * *

"Missile's gonna hit!" Chuck screamed into the interphone. "Brace for impact!"

The iPatriot impacted the B-52 where the inboard engine pylon met the portside wing. The initial explosion was minimal, but the secondary explosion was horrific, as engines number three and four ripped themselves apart.

The plane jerked sharply to the left, slamming Chuck's head into the bulkhead. Despite his helmet, he was knocked unconscious – which was probably for the best, as shards of shrapnel penetrated the fuselage of the B-52, peppering the left hand side of his body.

"_REPORT!_" Valenti's voice sounded over the interphone.

"Bartowski's hurt bad!" al-Fahd responded.

"_Can he eject?_"

"Negative!" al-Fahd shouted. "He's unconscious."

"_Paddy, I want you to get him out of this airplane. Manually eject him if you have to!_"

Colonel al-Fahd didn't even respond. Unbuckling himself, he moved across the cabin to where Chuck's seat was anchored. Making sure the younger man's belt was securely fastened, he pulled the eject lever.

Al-Fahd backed away quickly, and the downward-firing ejector seat activated. Chuck's seat blasted downward, falling quickly down and away from the B-52.

Colonel al-Fahd moved back toward his seat, and was about to sit down, when a piece of flap detached itself from the B-52's port wing. The plane jerked, and al-Fahd was slammed headfirst into the bulkhead. The impact snapped his neck.

As al-Fahd's vision went dark and his breathing slowed, the last conscious thought he had was, _I wonder if Bartowski's parachute deployed…_

In the cockpit, Valenti was unaware that al-Fahd was dead. "Alright," he said over the interphone. "Paddy, Casey, when I give the order, I expect you two to eject IMMEDIATELY. I'm going to try to aim this beast out into a patch of nothing but desert, and then I'll get out as well. Understood?"

"Copy that," Casey replied. Tugging his straps as tight as he could, he sat back against his seat and braced himself. The EJECT light snapped on, glowing bright red, and as automatically as if he were brushing his teeth, Casey reached down and yanked the ejector handle. The roof over his head flew off of the B-52, and his ACES II ejector seat rocketed skyward.

"Alright," Valenti muttered, locking the StratoPig's control yoke forward. "Here we go."

Valenti activated his ejection seat and flew straight up. The B-52 flew maybe a hundred more feet – and then its left wing sheared completely off.

"Uh-oh," Valenti muttered worriedly. The B-52 dropped straight downward.

It impacted the desert floor at nearly four hundred miles per hour. The sheer kinetic energy created a massive explosion, which in turn ignited the rather significant amount of fuel still onboard.

As the fireball reached up toward Valenti, he sighed. "Oh, wow," he muttered. "This is gonna suck –"

* * *

John Casey watched as the StratoPig exploded, sending a huge fireball rocketing skyward. To his horror, Colonel Valenti flew straight into the fireball.

"Oh my God," Casey whispered. Jerking his body around, he looked for Bartowski's parachute –

There. Maybe a hundred feet above the ground. Jerking on his parachute's cords, Casey tried to get the wind to carry him toward the young captain. He was successful in changing direction, and floated toward where Chuck was about to land.

He watched Chuck land hard. He was unconscious, and probably severely injured – he would've had no way to brace himself, and the landing probably hadn't helped matters at all.

Casey landed almost a thousand feet from Chuck. He ran out his landing, cut the cords on his parachute, and took off running toward Chuck's landing site. As he reached it, he heard the rumble of an approaching engine.

He turned to see an olive-green Hummer come roaring over a ridge and slide to a stop next to him and Chuck. Sarah Walker jumped out, wearing, of all things, a black cocktail dress. Her hair was a mess, and she had a wild look in her eyes.

"CHUCK!" she screamed, running over to him.

"Careful!" Casey insisted as she turned Chuck over. He was still breathing.

"What the hell happened?!" Casey asked Sarah angrily.

"It was Wainwright and Graham," Sarah sobbed. "They – they executed everybody at the base – they didn't get me because I was in the shower. Wainwright shot down the plane."

"FUCK!" Casey shouted. Taking a deep breath, he calmed down slightly. "Alright, help me get Bartowski into the Hummer."

Casey and Sarah gently lifted Chuck into the back seat of the vehicle. Sarah climbed in next to Chuck, and Casey ran around to the driver's seat. Putting the Hummer in gear, he took off back toward the base.

"What are you going to do, Casey?" Sarah asked. "Do you have a plan?"

"We're gonna put Bartowski in a pressure suit," Casey replied. "We're gonna get him loaded in the back seat of the F-16, on one hundred percent oxygen. Then I'm gonna get that thing in the sky and haul ass for Tel Aviv. It's the closest friendly city with REALLY good hospitals that are designed to treat combat injuries, and there is no WAY this Fulcrum group has penetrated the Mossad."

They didn't talk for the ten minutes that it took to drive back to the base. Casey carefully moved Chuck out of the Hummer and onto the tarmac next to the Fighting Falcon as Sarah ran to the hangar to retrieve the pressure suit. Five minutes later, they had Chuck in the suit. As Casey was gingerly carrying him up the ladder, Chuck regained consciousness.

"Whas goin' on?" he gurgled.

"Be quiet, Bartowski," Casey ordered him. "Try not to move too much."

"'Kay…"

Casey got Chuck loaded into the back seat of the F-16. As he climbed into the pilot's seat, Sarah ran to the ladder and climbed up. "Chuck!" she called, desperation in her voice as she came up to eye level with him.

He looked at her out of one good eye and one completely bloodshot eye. "Hey, Sarah," he said quietly and slowly. A drunken smile appeared on his face. "Lissen… got somethin' to tell you…"

Sarah nodded. "What's that, Chuck?"

His smile got a little bigger. "_Ya… ya bezumno lyubyalyu vas_."

Sarah's breath caught in her chest as she recognized the Russian phrase she had teased Chuck with on the flight line two and a half years before. "Oh my God," she sobbed. "Oh, Chuck, I love you too. Please be okay, Chuck, please."

"I'll be 'kay… 'cause you love me…"

"Walker, we have to go now," Casey interrupted them.

She nodded. "Alright," she whispered. Leaning in to Chuck, she gently kissed him. "I love you, Chuck."

"Love you too, Sarah…"

Doing her best not to completely lose control, Sarah carefully climbed back down the ladder. Casey detached it from the cockpit, and closed the canopy as he swung the F-16 around toward the runway.

Sarah stood on the tarmac and watched the Fighting Falcon take off. She kept watching as it got smaller and smaller, until it was finally out of sight.

Once she could no longer see the aircraft, she turned toward the headquarters building. Each step she took toward it was slower and slower. By the time she walked into the videoconference room, she felt like her entire body was made of lead.

She forced herself to enter the commands to connect to Washington. A moment later, the face of General Beckman appeared on the screen. A concerned look appeared on her face as she took in Sarah's appearance – wrinkled black dress, destroyed hair, a streak of Chuck's blood down the side of her face.

"Agent Walker," General Beckman said, a worried note to her voice, "what's going on?"

Sarah just stared at Beckman for a moment, and finally she spoke. "General Beckman," she whispered, "Camp Omaha is code black."

* * *

**END PART THREE**

* * *

_Ya bezumno lyubyalyu vas – _I'm madly in love with you.  
_Ya bezumno lyubyalyu vas, i mne zhalv, shto ya ne mogu skazatv vam_ (from Chapter 14) – I'm madly in love with you, and I wish I could tell you.


	23. Survival

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny – Aftermath**_

**Chapter Twenty-Three – "Survival"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Major John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Captain Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Israeli Medic #1 – David Krumholtz  
Israeli Medic #2 – Alona Tal  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
General D. Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Captain Devin Woodcomb, M.D. – Ryan McPartlin  
Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster  
Air Force Lieutenant – Percy Daggs III

* * *

The F-16D Fighting Falcon appropriated from Mountain Home Air Force Base blasted away from Camp Omaha at Mach 2.2, as fast as it would go. At that speed, it could reach Tel Aviv in under half an hour. Even so, fifteen hundred miles per hour seemed far too slow for John Casey.

Casey kept throwing worried glances over his shoulder at the gravely wounded Air Force captain in the back seat of the F-16. Chuck Bartowski had been manning the Intersect station in his pride and joy, Camp Omaha's B-52G StratoPig, when it had been attacked by another of Bartowski's inventions, the FIM-92R iPatriot missile.

The initial explosion had severely injured Chuck. According to the tiny snippets of information Colonel al-Fahd had given Casey and Colonel Valenti before he fell silent – presumably dead himself – Bartowski's head had been slammed against the wall, likely causing a concussion. Then, when the engine pylon exploded, the shrapnel pierced the hull of the aircraft and riddled the left hand side of Bartowski's body.

After Colonel al-Fahd had manually activated Chuck's ejection seat, Casey had watched from his own parachute as Chuck hit the ground HARD. He had probably been unconscious, and so had had no way to control his descent. So now, with likely internal bleeding and possible brain injury, Chuck was in a pressurized suit, in the back seat of the F-16, bound for Tel Aviv. Sure, Casey had himself just ejected out of the B-52 less than an hour before, and should definitely not have been flying before getting checked out, but time was of the essence.

As Casey came into radio range of Tel Aviv, he began calling. "Freebird-One to Ben Gurion Control," he said. "Requesting emergency clearance."

"_Freebird-One, this is Ben Gurion Control. Please state the nature of your emergency._"

"Ben Gurion Control, I am a United States Air Force F-16 out of a classified base in northern Iraq. I have a crewmember onboard who was severely injured in an aircraft crash. I need to get him to a secure combat hospital immediately."

There was a moment of quiet, and then a different voice came on the radio. "_Freebird-One, what is the nature of your colleague's injuries?_"

"Uh, possible concussion… he was definitely hit with shrapnel and may have internal bleeding… also, he hit the ground pretty hard at the end of his parachute descent – he was unconscious when his ejector seat was activated."

"_Alright, Freebird-One… you are cleared for immediate landing on Runway 21. We will have medical personnel standing by._"

"Roger that."

Casey brought the F-16 around to line up with Runway 21. He kept the Fighting Falcon at full speed well beyond where he should have, causing a sonic boom that rippled across the city of Tel Aviv. He didn't chop speed until the last minute, bringing the fighter down on the runway and rolling out within three thousand feet.

A pair of Hummers that had been converted to ambulances came rolling up to the F-16 as Casey popped the canopy. An airstair was rolled up to the side of the fighter, and a man in a BDU with a stethoscope around his neck came running up. "What's his name?" he asked, by way of introduction.

"Uh, Captain Charles Bartowski," Casey replied.

The – medic? doctor? Casey didn't really know – reached inside Chuck's flight suit and extracted his dog tags. "Bartowski, Charles I.," he called down. "Captain, United States Air Force. Blood type A positive."

Reaching under Chuck's arms, the Israeli medic lifted the unconscious younger man up by his armpits. Casey scrambled to stand and grab Chuck's legs. Holding onto his feet, he gingerly helped the medic take Chuck down the stairs.

As Casey was helping load Chuck into the ambulance, however, another medic came running up to him. "Sir, I need you to sit down right now," she said to Casey.

Casey turned on the medic as the ambulance doors were closed. "Are you nuts?!" he asked incredulously. "That's my colleague, my friend in there."

"Sir," the medic said. "You are bleeding severely. Were you involved in the aircraft crash?"

Casey's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking… about…"

The medic reached a hand behind Casey's back and pressed it against his flight suit. Her hand came away covered in blood. "Holy Christ," Casey whispered. "Yeah, I was involved in the aircraft crash."

"Alright," the medic replied. "You probably didn't even feel it – I'm sure your adrenaline is still running high enough that you could've lost a dangerous amount of blood before you even noticed. Now I need you to sit down where you are. We will bring a litter to you, and put you in the ambulance."

"Okay," Casey acquiesced. He sat down –

And as his body calmed and the adrenaline faded, he suddenly felt light-headed. "Oh, hell," he muttered, just before the world went black.

* * *

Sarah slowly keyed in the commands to connect the videoconference to Washington. A moment later, General Beckman's face came up on the screen.

Beckman looked at Sarah for a moment, the expression on her face slowly changing to one of concern as she took in Sarah's mussed hair, the wrinkled dress, the streak of blood on the side of her face. "Agent Walker, what's going on?" the NSA director asked.

Sarah sighed. "General Beckman," she replied softly, "Camp Omaha is code black."

General Beckman gasped, and her eyes widened. "What?!" she said, shock evident in her voice. "What the hell happened?"

Sarah shook her head. "I don't know for sure, ma'am," she replied. "I only know what I've seen. But here's what I know – I went to take a shower during the final phase of the test flight. By the time I had finished my shower, every single non-project officer, NCO, and civilian on the base had been shot, execution style, including Doctor Novak."

"Who did it?" Beckman replied in disbelief.

"I believe it was Colonel Wainwright and Director Graham," Sarah replied. She could see General Beckman start to protest at the mention of Graham's name, and she held up a hand. "Ma'am, Director Graham tried to kill me. I was able to escape him, and then run him over with a HMMWV. He is dead."

Beckman shook her head. "What about Wainwright?"

"He stole the M2A3 Bradley that Chu- uh, Captain Bartowski had modified with the FIM-92R missile. He drove out to the flight line, and attacked the B-52 as it was on final approach. I was not able to reach him in time to stop him from firing the missile. I neutralized him as soon as I reached him."

General Beckman looked down at her desk. "Unbelievable," she muttered.

"Ma'am, there's more," Sarah said softly. "The missile that Wainwright launched fatally damaged the B-52. Captain Bartowski was severely injured during the attack; however, he and Major Casey both managed to eject. Colonel Valenti and Lieutenant Colonel al-Fahd are missing – I can only presume that they're both dead."

Sarah took a deep breath. "I retrieved Major Casey and Captain Bartowski in the HMMWV that I was driving and took them back to the base. Major Casey and I placed Captain Bartowski into a pressurized suit and moved him into the project's F-16. Major Casey then left the base in the F-16 with the intention of flying Captain Bartowski to a secure combat-ready hospital in Tel Aviv."

General Beckman clasped her hands against the sides of her head. "Jesus Christ," she muttered. "So you're telling me that you're the only living person at Camp Omaha?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sarah replied, her voice cracking. "That's the situation."

Beckman raised an eyebrow. "Is… there something else, Agent Walker?"

Sarah shook her head and closed her eyes. "No, ma'am."

"Walker."

Sarah opened her eyes again, and looked back at General Beckman. Beckman looked like she was considering whether or not to say something. "Listen," she finally said, "I'm sure Captain Bartowski will be alright."

Sarah didn't even attempt to deny anything. "Yes, ma'am," she replied.

* * *

Rome.

Ellie had been dropping hints to Devin that she had wanted to come here for a long time, so he had finally agreed to take her. After all, it was Valentine's Day AND their third anniversary, so it made sense.

But he had a little trick up his sleeve. A trick that Ellie knew nothing about. A trick that involved a diamond ring that had been passed down to him from his great-grandmother.

Naturally, Devin was nervous. He had no idea how Ellie was going to react when he got down on one knee in front of the Trevi Fountain and asked her to marry him. He was fairly confident that she was going to say yes, but he never knew for sure.

Devin REALLY wished he had been able to talk to Chuck Bartowski about it, but with Chuck being sequestered at a classified base, that made things difficult. And so, Devin had just gone along for the last six weeks, planning things on his own, getting ready.

Ellie, of course, was loving the trip. She was wide-eyed like a little kid - but there was also a little smile behind her eyes, as if she knew a secret. Devin, of course, figured that she had some inkling as to his plans – Ellie was a smart woman, and she had always been able to read him.

Okay. There was the Trevi Fountain. Devin took a deep breath as they approached, one hand going into his jacket pocket.

Ellie was absolutely awestruck by the fountain. "I've wanted to see this my entire life," she breathed as she looked at it. "Devin, thank you so much. I can't even tell you how much I love you right now."

Devin nodded and grinned. The hand began to come out of his jacket pocket, velvet box in hand –

"CAPTAIN WOODCOMB!"

Devin's head snapped up and to the right. To his surprise and horror, he saw two men in Air Force Class B uniforms running his way. "Oh, this can't be good," he muttered.

The two men came to a halt in front of him. "Captain Woodcomb," the one wearing lieutenant's rank said, "we have a serious medical emergency with Project Omaha. Your assistance is required right now."

Devin felt like his heart had frozen in his chest. "What?" he replied, in shock.

"Wait, WHAT?!" Ellie interrupted angrily. "I don't think so. You people wouldn't let him stick around three years ago when he hurt his knee, and now you're here to interrupt our anniver-"

"Babe," Devin said quietly, cutting her off. "Project Omaha means Chuck. Something has happened to him."

Ellie's eyes widened. "Oh my God," she whispered. She turned to the Air Force men. "I'm going with him."

The lieutenant was already shaking his head before she even finished. "I'm sorry, ma'am. This is a classified project –"

Before Devin could stop her, Ellie had grabbed the lieutenant by his collar and dragged his face so close to hers that he actually flinched when Ellie spoke. "You listen to me," she growled. "Captain Chuck Bartowski is my little brother. If something is wrong with him, you had BETTER believe that I'm going to be there. Do I make myself VERY clear?"

The lieutenant nodded, speechless.

Devin sighed. "Alright, let's go."

As he and Ellie followed the speed-walking Air Force lieutenant, Devin sighed, rubbing a finger over the box in his pocket.

Goddammit.

* * *

The Air Force flew Devin and Ellie to Tel Aviv on a VC-20. As soon as they landed at David Ben Gurion International Airport, a car from the American Embassy whisked them away to the military hospital where Chuck was being worked on.

When they reached the hospital, an Israeli NCO escorted them to an observation deck overlooking an operating theatre. John Casey was standing on the deck – and Devin was surprised to see him in a hospital gown.

"Major Casey," he greeted him. "What happened to you?"

Casey shook his head. "Shrapnel to the back," he replied. "They got it out and stitched me up. You need to concentrate on him."

Devin followed Casey's finger down to where Chuck Bartowski lay on the operating table, the left side of his body a mass of blood, a nearby tray filled with fragments of metal. "Shit," Devin breathed, taking in Chuck's condition. "What the hell happened?"

Casey shook his head. "I don't know for sure," he said quietly. "I think we got hit by this nationalist American terror group called Fulcrum. They shot down the StratoPig – Chuck was really badly hurt in the explosion, and he was unconscious when he hit the ground. They know, at the very least, that the shrapnel took out his spleen, perforated his small intestine and stomach, and deflated his left lung. They think that it might have also nicked his pericardium, but otherwise, his heart seems to be fine. He probably has a concussion from the attack and internal injuries from the landing – they've got him in an induced coma right now to try to keep brain swelling down."

Devin sighed. "They can't keep him in a coma too long," he said worriedly. "I don't know how much it might affect the information stored in his brain." Then he narrowed his eyes. "But wait a second, there are doctors who are supposed to be dealing with that. Where's Doctor Novak? Colonel al-Fahd?"

"Both dead," Casey replied stonily. "Novak was shot, al-Fahd was killed in the crash."

"Jesus H. Christ," Devin breathed. "Who the hell's left?"

"Bartowski, Agent Walker, and me," Casey said. "We're the only survivors."

"Fuck!" Devin uttered. "Are you kidding me?!"

"Wait a second," Ellie said, finally speaking. "What the hell are you two talking about? Fulcrum? Agent Walker? Information stored in Chuck's brain?!"

Casey sighed and turned to Ellie Bartowski. "Ms. Bartowski," he said, "what I am about to tell you is classified beyond top secret, and doesn't leave this room. Clear?"

Ellie's face took on a stunned expression. "Uh, yeah, I guess so."

Casey nodded. "Alright. Since the day your brother went on active duty, he's been involved with a joint Department of Defense – CIA project known as Omaha. Basically, for the last three and a half years, we have studied how his brain reacts to subliminal imagery, how well it retains it, what sorts of patterns it can form from subliminally encoded information. Based on that information, the DoD and the CIA have been building a supercomputer that would mimic your brother's brain's capabilities; however, in the meantime, he has proven to be a hugely useful asset in Iraq. The intelligence he has been able to develop has helped us a great deal, and he has developed modifications to both the B-52 bomber and the Stinger missile that could extend their service life by a great deal.

"Agent Sarah Walker is the CIA's liaison to the project," Casey continued. "She and your brother are very close friends, and I think they… uh… may be intimate, as it were."

"Wait," Ellie interrupted him. "Is she that blonde we met in Nevada?"

"That's her," Devin confirmed.

Ellie shook her head. "Go on," she ordered Casey.

"Anyway," Casey said, "we were attacked by this terrorist group. They executed everybody at the base except for Agent Walker, because she happened to be in the shower. She took down their two inside people, but unfortunately was not able to reach the second one in time. He shot down the B-52, and she neutralized him."

"My God," Ellie whispered. "So, what does-"

Ellie was cut off by the alarming sound of a heart monitor going wild. "Oh, shit," Devin gasped. Running for the stairwell, he burst through the door. He plunged down the stairs as quickly as he could, grabbing a sterile mask and gloves as he burst into the operating room.

Ellie watched in horror as Devin took over the operation. "What's he doing?" she asked Casey.

"He knows the way your brother's brain works better than any of those doctors," Casey replied. "Trust me, Captain Woodcomb is the best doctor your brother could have."

"_He's crashing!_"

"_Get the paddles!_"

"_Alright, charging twenty… clear!_"


	24. Exile

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny – Aftermath**_

**Chapter 24 – "Exile"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Captain Devin Woodcomb, MD – Ryan McPartlin  
Captain Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Dr. Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster  
Israeli Doctor – David Krumholtz  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Congressman Henry Waxman (D-CA) – Wallace Shawn  
Congressman John M. McHugh (R-NY) – Robert Redford  
General D. Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Major John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
General David Petraeus - himself

* * *

_**Valentine's Day**_

_"Charging twenty... clear!"_

_Chuck's body twitched as the defibrillator paddles discharged into his chest. Ellie watched, wide-eyed, trying to make herself look away, but glued, horrified, to her little brother, as he lay on the table, struggling for life._

_Devin shook his head. "Charge forty!" he shouted. "Clear!"_

_Chuck's body twitched again - and then there was a spike on the heart monitor... followed by another... and another._

_The relief was visible as Devin's body sagged. "Sinus rhythm," he rasped. "Finish this shit up, and get him closed. He was just in a plane crash - there's no way his body and his cardiovascular system can take another beating like that."_

_The Israeli doctor looked at Devin and nodded. "Yes, sir."_

* * *

**August 2007**

Sarah Walker felt like she was drifting on a cloud. There was a gentle roar in the background, the pleasant warmth of a body next to her own. The distinct scent of Irish Spring wafted to her nostrils, bringing a smile to her face.

Slowly her eyes cracked open, and she found herself looking into the bottomless brown pools of Chuck's eyes. "Hi," he said softly.

"Hi," she replied, reaching a hand up to brush an errant wisp of hair from his forehead. Sarah leaned in to Chuck and gently kissed him, then rolled over onto her back.

As she took in her surroundings, she recognized where she was – a beach house in Cabo San Lucas that she had spent some time at during training with the CSIS years before. She had thought then that it would be the perfect place to take a vacation – provided she could find the right person to take it with.

"So what are we going to do today, Chuck?" she whispered.

He chuckled softly. "Same thing we do every day, Sarah. Try and take over the world."

Sarah laughed quietly. Only Chuck would make a _Pinky & The Brain_ reference while lying naked in bed in a beach house in Baja. "You're such a nerd sometimes," she teased him.

Unexpectedly, he boosted himself upward and positioned his body over hers. "Well, if you don't like that idea, I'm sure I can come up with an alternative," he said softly, a dangerous tone to his voice.

Sarah's voice escaped her, so she just bit her lip and nodded. She could feel her breathing getting faster as Chuck pressed against her. She closed her eyes in anticipation –

"Agent Walker?"

Sarah's eyes flew open again, and the image of Chuck dissolved, replaced by a conference room at the US Capitol. Congressman John McHugh was staring at her, a curious look on his face.

"I'm sorry," she said, distractedly. "I, uh, I must've drifted off for a moment."

"Of course," McHugh replied. "I asked if you could expand on your reply to Congressman Shays, when you told him that you had Captain Bartowski had been 'very close friends', but nothing more."

Sarah shook her head. "We weren't anything more," she replied. "We were just friends."

Congressman McHugh sighed. "Here's the thing, Agent Walker. Major John Casey, in his report on the incident, stated that he was fairly certain that you and Captain Bartowski were, to put it delicately, intimate. You seem to be refuting that statement. I would remind you, Agent Walker, that you are under oath."

Sarah sighed. "We were not intimate," she said, a tone of disappointment coloring her voice. "In my personal opinion, we were probably less than twenty-four hours from reaching that stage of our relationship. However, events were disrupted by a plane being shot down, and have since further been exacerbated by a paranoid National Security Council."

"I'm sorry, Agent Walker," Congressman Henry Waxman interrupted. "Are you saying that making paramount the security of the military's most important intelligence asset equates to paranoia?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Congressman Waxman," she replied, "given that I am the only person who has been barred from seeing Captain Bartowski, yes, I do believe it's paranoia."

Congressman Waxman raised an eyebrow. "Agent Walker, I would prefer it if you would let us be the judges of that."

* * *

_Four and a half months earlier…_

Chuck Bartowski couldn't move. He felt like he had been completely immobilized… and he also felt like somebody had set his chest on fire.

His mouth felt more parched than the worst day he had experienced in the Iraqi desert. He couldn't see anything, except for a dim light.

But that light was getting brighter.

Chuck went toward the light. He didn't really move, since he was immobilized, but he made his brain go toward the light. It got brighter, and brighter, till finally, it was almost blinding. His eyelids cracked open, and he squinted against the sunshine intruding into…

Wherever he was.

He tried to look around, but his head wouldn't move. He shifted his eyes as far as they would go. He thought he saw somebody in the corner.

With a supreme effort, he made his head move, just a centimeter. That was enough, though. All he had to see was the familiar head of brown hair to know that it was his sister.

_Ellie_, he thought, but the word didn't come out. He opened his mouth, and tried to force the word out, but so dry was his tongue that no sound came forth save for whistling air.

Frustrated, Chuck tried to figure out a way to make noise. His body wouldn't wiggle, so he couldn't shake the bed. Concentrating, he forced his right hand to lift from the bed. After an inch or so, it dropped back down.

No noise.

Chuck tried again. He got his hand a little higher this time, but it still made no noise when it dropped back down. One more try – he got his hand a foot into the air, and when it fell again, he forced his arm to the right.

His hand slammed into the bed rail, rattling it and startling Ellie from her slumber. "_Gak_," Chuck croaked at the sudden pain in his hand.

"CHUCK!" Ellie leapt out of her chair. "Chuck!"

His sister dashed across the room to him. "You're awake!" she said, a delighted look on her face as she bent over and kissed him on the forehead. "Oh, thank God!"

She pulled back, and Chuck gave her an irritated look. Forcing his arm to move, he pointed to his mouth.

"Of course," Ellie said. Reaching across her little brother, she grabbed a squeeze bottle of water. She placed the straw into Chuck's mouth, and he began to suck greedily.

Chuck had nearly drained the bottle of water before he finally felt like he was able to talk. "Considerably better," he whispered.

Ellie backed away, but continued to hover. Something seemed not right.

"How long have I been out?" Chuck asked.

Ellie sighed. "I don't know if you're ready to hear it, Chuck."

Chuck narrowed his eyes. "How long?"

Ellie looked at the floor. "It's April 8th, Chuck. Easter Sunday."

Chuck felt like his heart had stopped. "April 8th?" he gasped. "I've been out for nearly TWO MONTHS?!"

Ellie nodded slowly. "They put you into an induced coma when you arrived," she said quietly. "They were afraid of what damage might be caused to your brain if something went wrong, what with all the information you apparently have stored up there."

His sister shrugged. "The thing is, when they tried to wake you up, you didn't wake up. They were actually afraid you were brain dead for awhile."

* * *

Sarah Walker had no idea why she had been summoned to General Beckman's office at NSA headquarters in Fort Meade. For the last two months, she had been stuck at CIA headquarters, doing menial analysis work, just waiting for her Congressional subpoena.

General Beckman had put a tight clamp on everything regarding Project Omaha since the incident in Iraq. Nobody was being told Chuck Bartowski's location – only his sister and Captain Woodcomb were given that information, and that only because they went everywhere that he did.

So Sarah had spent the last two months worrying night and day about Chuck, sating herself with every tiny scrap of information she could get on him. All she knew was that he had crashed on the operating table, and then had fallen into a coma from which he had not awakened for two months.

All Sarah could hope was that this meeting with General Beckman was going to contain some sort of information about Chuck. She was rapidly approaching the point of insanity.

General Beckman herself opened the door to her office, letting Sarah in. "Good morning, Agent Walker," Beckman said, indicating that Sarah should take a seat.

Sarah sat in one of the chairs facing Beckman's desk. "What can I do for you, ma'am?" she asked.

Beckman looked at Sarah for a moment. "Chuck Bartowski is awake," she finally said.

Sarah gasped. She felt light-headed for a moment, and then became aware of the stupidly huge grin that had plastered itself on her face. "Thank God!" she whispered.

"Yes," Beckman replied, clearly not sharing Sarah's enthusiasm for the situation. "However, he is still in critical condition."

"Of course," Sarah said, nodding her head. "Um, General, I hate to skirt around the decorum of a situation like this, but when can I see him?"

Beckman stared at Sarah for a moment, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Agent Walker, but you can't."

Sarah was certain she hadn't heard Beckman correctly. "Wait, what do you mean, I can't see Chuck?"

"I'm sorry, Agent Walker," Beckman replied, shaking her head. "It's for Captain Bartowski's safety and for your own. We can't risk his location being divulged."

"What?!" Sarah shot back. "I've been trained to resist every torture and interrogation technique out there!"

General Beckman looked downward. "Agent Walker… Sarah… I didn't want to mention this, because I'll know you'll take it hard, but the FBI thinks you were involved with the Fulcrum attack."

In that instant, Sarah felt like her stomach dropped through the floor. "WHAT?!" She stared at General Beckman, an incredulous look on her face. "That is the most fucking asinine thing I have ever HEARD!"

"Be that as it may, Agent Walker, I have my orders, and so do you," General Beckman replied, her voice taking on a hard edge.

"Fine," Sarah hissed. "Tell me who issued the orders, so I can go break their kneecaps and get them to change their mind."

"Good luck with that," Beckman replied sarcastically. "My orders were issued by President Bush."

* * *

Chuck was sitting up in bed, trying to read the Orson Scott Card novel that he had started just before the plane crash, and found that he was having some pretty serious difficulty focusing on the words on the page. He sighed, closed the book, and set it down on the nightstand.

As he did so, the door to his room opened, and Devin walked in, wearing a flight suit, followed by two men in BDUs.

"CASEY!" Chuck exclaimed, upon seeing the Air Force major walk in. Casey's face broke into a huge grin at seeing Chuck awake and well.

"Good to see you've rejoined the land of the living, Bartowski," Casey said, a note of humor in his voice. "Tell me, have you met General David Petraeus before?"

Chuck shook his head. "Nope. I spoke with him over the radio, right before the plane crashed, but…"

His voice trailed off as he realized who the second BDU-clad man was. "Holy SHIT, sir!" he yelped. "Jesus… uh, General Petraeus!"

Petraeus laughed. "I do not claim to be the Son of God," he replied. "But I am General Petraeus, and I'm glad to see that you're awake and well, Captain Bartowski."

"Uh, thank you, sir," Chuck replied. "Uh, may I ask why you came to see me, sir?"

"Of course," Petraeus replied. "I wanted to personally present you with a couple of things."

He turned to Casey, who handed him a velvet covered box. Petraeus opened the box. "First thing I want to present you is your Purple Heart," he said. "Captain Charles Bartowski, you are hereby decorated with the Purple Heart for injury suffered in combat."

"Wow," Chuck said with a whistle, taking the medal from Petraeus. He had seen them before, but not quite this close. It was really rather elaborate.

"That's not all, Bartowski," Casey said, interrupting Chuck's reverie.

"Indeed," Petraeus added. "Captain Bartowski, for meritorious service while assigned to Project Omaha, you are hereby awarded the Bronze Star. Congratulations."

Chuck took the second medal and shook his head. "Uh… what about everybody else?"

Petraeus nodded. "Major Casey was also awarded the Bronze Star," he said. "Colonel al-Fahd was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star, with V for valor – we determined from the B-52's black boxes that he ejected you from the aircraft, shortly before suffering a fatal injury."

Chuck raised his eyebrows and blew his breath out slowly. "And Colonel Valenti?"

"Colonel Valenti was posthumously awarded the Air Force Cross by order of the President," Petraeus said. "His actions in making sure a crippled B-52 stayed well away from any population centers – well, President Bush felt that that went above and beyond the call of duty."

Chuck shook his head, and a small smile appeared on his face. "Wow," he said again. "I can't wait till Sarah sees me – the big, bad decorated military man."

The smiles faded from Casey and Petraeus' faces. Chuck looked from one to the other, a lump beginning to form in his gut. "What?"

Petraeus sighed. "Captain Bartowski, I'm afraid that due to security concerns, for Agent Walker's safety and your own, we're not going to be able to allow her to see you."

Chuck narrowed his eyes and looked at the general in disbelief. "Security concerns?" he asked incredulously. "What the hell does that mean?"

Petraeus shook his head. "I'm sorry, Captain Bartowski, I can't go into it. However, having discussed this with the National Security Council, we feel that this is the best course of action."

Chuck sighed. "So I don't get a say in this?"

General Petraeus' back stiffened. "Captain Bartowski, I can and will make it an order, if need be."

Chuck's lips tightened to a thin line. "General Petraeus," he said quietly, "would you like to know what you can do with your order, sir?"

Petraeus' eyes blazed. "CAPTAIN BARTOWSKI –"

"Sir," Casey interrupted him. "May I speak to you outside?"

Petraeus shot one last look at Chuck, and then followed Casey out of the hospital room. "What is it, Major?" he hissed.

Casey sighed. "Permission to speak candidly, sir?"

Petraeus rolled his eyes. "Permission granted."

"Sir," Casey said, "you have absolutely no fucking clue what Bartowski's going through right now. He got shot out of the sky by domestic terrorists, wound up in a coma, and just woke up, only to be told that he can't see the woman he fell in love with because of 'security concerns'."

General Petraeus crossed his arms across his chest. "Major Casey, there is a much bigger picture here. We are in the midst of the biggest military action this country has seen since 1969."

Casey shook his head. "Well, sir, if we can't allow one Air Force captain the freedom to see his girlfriend, then what goddamn good is the war?"

Without waiting for a reply, Casey turned his back on General Petraeus and walked down the hall.

He knew very well that he had just ended his military career.


	25. Betrayal

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny – Aftermath**_

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – "Betrayal"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Congressman Henry Waxman – Wallace Shawn  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Agent Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer  
Captain Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Dr. Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Lt. Col. Marcus Wainwright – Richard Belzer  
Big Mike Tucker – Mark Christopher Lawrence  
Harry Tang – C.S. Lee  
Lester Patel – Vik Sahay  
Jeff Barnes – Scott Krinsky  
Major John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
General D. Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Director Roan Montgomery – John Larroquette

* * *

**August 2007**

Congressman Henry Waxman stared at Sarah Walker, a perturbed look on his face. "Agent Walker, you have been most unhelpful during this hearing," he remarked.

Sarah glared at him. "You have given me absolutely no reason to be helpful, sir," she replied. "I answered the questions you asked of me, and you have still continued to treat me as if I were personally part of this conspiracy – as if I chose to betray my country, to betray Chuck Bartowski."

Waxman raised one bushy eyebrow. "Did you, Agent Walker?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Congressman, my testimony is complete. You have my affidavit. Anything further can come from the CIA director's office."

With that, Sarah stood from her chair, and started toward the back of the chamber. "AGENT WALKER!" she heard Congressman Waxman shout angrily behind her. "We are not finished here!"

Sarah turned around with a half-smile on her face. "Congressman Waxman, I'm a Canadian citizen," she shot back at him. "You can't make me do shit."

She stormed out of the chamber, startling the people outside the doors as she burst through. Bryce Larkin sat across the hall from the chamber doors, a perturbed look on his face. "You know, that might not've been the smartest decision in the world," he said, indicating a wall-mounted TV as Sarah approached.

"What?" Sarah spat. "Telling a Congressman in a classified hearing that I'm Canadian? What the hell's he gonna do to me?"

"Send you back to Canada might be a start," Bryce replied, a distinctly sarcastic tone in his voice. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you could cause for the Agency?"

"Well, God forbid I cause the Agency trouble," Sarah growled. "You do realize that the Agency can lay this ALL at Director Graham's feet?"

"Yeah, well, that just makes things look worse for you, Sarah," Bryce retorted angrily. "Seeing as how you WERE personally recruited by Graham and all."

Sarah shook her head. "I know, I know, but I'll be okay, Bryce. Really."

However, Bryce seemed to have stopped listening. "You know, I just don't want to see you get yourself into too much trouble, Sarah. I mean, after working with you for the last couple months, I've realized that I really care about you a lot –"

"What?!"

"Seriously, Sarah!" Bryce said, a frighteningly sincere look on his face. "I mean, having you in my life since February – it's been great!"

Sarah's mouth fell open and her eyes narrowed. "The only reason I was in your life is because Project Omaha got massacred!"

"I know, I know," Bryce replied, shaking his head. "But the thing is, you know, I thought that it might be fun for us to go out some time –"

"Are you kidding me?!" Sarah asked in disbelief. "Bryce, where the hell is this coming from?"

Bryce looked at Sarah, his eyes wide. "Are you… uh, are you saying you don't feel the same way?"

"No!" Sarah practically exploded. "Bryce, you're a good friend, but THAT. IS. ALL!"

Bryce's shoulders slumped and his face fell. Without a word, he turned away from Sarah and started walking down the hall. "Dammit, Bryce!" Sarah said. "You can't just walk away!" He ignored her. "I'm your ride home, for God's sake!"

"I'll be fine," he muttered.

As Bryce Larkin walked away, though, something in his head finally snapped. The damage of years of guilt from letting Chuck Bartowski get involved had finally been pushed just a little bit too far.

"You'll pay, bitch," he whispered as he walked out the door of the Capitol. "You'll ALL pay."

* * *

_Two days later_

"I don't understand, Chuck," Ellie said. "Why are you going to the Buy More again?"

Chuck sighed, tightening the knot in his tie. "Elle, I'm on medical leave for the next six months while the Air Force tries to decide what to do with me. There is no way I can just sit around your apartment doing nothing – I'll go nuts."

"So you're gonna get a job at the BUY MORE?!"

Chuck shrugged. "Big Mike's willing to temporarily put me in the assistant manager position and let me be in charge of the Nerd Herd. It's no B-52, but it's better than nothing."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

As she walked out the door, Morgan climbed through Chuck's bedroom window. "Dude, I'm digging this window access," he told Chuck. "It's like my own door."

"Riiight," Chuck drawled. "The Morgan Door. Suuure."

"Dude, mock not," Morgan replied, faking offense. "Just remember who got you this job at the Buy More."

"It's not mine yet," Chuck said, shaking his head. "I still have to go in and talk to Big Mike to make it permanent."

"Oh, come on, Chuck," Morgan protested. "Your competition is the Exalted Harry Tang. I don't think you'll have a problem."

Chuck shrugged. "Harry's always been a good salesman, Morgan."

"But he's not CHUCK BARTOWSKI!" Morgan shot back.

Chuck laughed. "Right."

* * *

Bryce Larkin stared at his e-mail inbox. That one e-mail had sat in his box, unread, for the last six months.

He had decided not to open it after Fulcrum had been exposed at the Camp Omaha disaster. However, for reasons he hadn't understood at the time, he had decided to keep the e-mail.

Now he understood. This was his destiny.

Steeling himself, Bryce clicked on the link. A window popped up, asking him for his password.

Closing his eyes, Bryce typed in _Mister Bates_. There was silence for a moment –

"_Good day, Agent Larkin_," the distinctive voice of Colonel Wainwright rang out. Bryce's eyes flew open and he stared into the skeletal face of the deceased traitor.

It felt almost like receiving a message from beyond the grave.

"_If all has gone according to plan, and I see no reason that it wouldn't, by now, Camp Omaha, and with it, Project Omaha, has been destroyed. That being the case, it is now up to you to destroy the Intersect._"

Bryce nodded. "But where is it?" he muttered to himself.

"_The Intersect is located at NASA's Greenbelt facility_," Wainwright continued, almost as if he could hear Bryce. "_Its specific location is within the experimental area for the discontinued X-Ray Timing Experiment project._"

Bryce started scribbling furiously on a piece of paper as Wainwright spoke. "_The computer itself is based on a Cray XMT. It can be destroyed with a simple C4 charge. However, the computer is inside a specialized display room. The entire room must be destroyed._"

"What?!"

"_If you check your e-mail, you will find one from me on December 22__nd__ that ended with a set of coordinates. These will give you a specific location in Rock Creek Park, where you will find the necessary supplies buried._"

Bryce paused the video and scrolled through his old e-mails – yep, there it was. December 22nd – latitude 38.9275, longitude -77.05.

He hit print, and quickly switched back over to the video. "_Remember, Agent Larkin, wear sunglasses. You'll be sorry if you don't._"

Bryce didn't quite understand that, but there was no more. The image of Colonel Wainwright faded, leaving Bryce to figure out how to carry out his monstrous act of treachery on his own.

* * *

"So you're sure about this, Bartowski?" Big Mike asked.

"Yeah," Chuck replied. "The way I see it, if I take any other job right now, they're going to expect me to make a long term commitment. I don't know if the Air Force is going to want me back or not, and I'd hate to break a commitment to go back."

"Gotta tell you, Bartowski, I wouldn't be heart-broken if you ended up staying here," Big Mike said. "I can't stand that strutting martinet Tang."

"Then why not fire him?" Chuck asked, confused.

"Oh, I have my reasons," Big Mike mumbled, staring out the window. Chuck followed his gaze –

"Mrs. Tang?" he asked, grimacing. "Really?!"

"Not a word, Bartowski, not a word!"

Chuck shook his head and stood, leaving Big Mike's office. As he exited, Harry Tang saw him, and stopped talking to his wife, heading toward Chuck with a full head of steam.

"Bartowski," Harry hissed. "Taking my job, eh?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Give me a break, Harry. I'm just good."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You'll pay for this, Bartowski!"

"Wellll…" Chuck said slowly. "I think not. You see, my first act as your boss is to tell you to shut the hell up and go work the Hole."

Harry glared at Chuck. "You WOULDN'T."

Chuck shrugged and smiled slightly. "There's a line at customer service, Harry."

Chuck swore he heard the smaller man growl under his breath as he stomped off toward the customer service desk. Chuck headed toward the Nerd Herd desk, but was intercepted halfway by a pair of individuals who Chuck was sure were in the running for "World's Biggest Slackers".

"Chuck," Lester said quietly. "I understand you're back."

"Can't believe it, bro," Jeff slurred.

Chuck shook his head yet again. "I can't believe the two of you are still here."

* * *

**Septeber 2007**

John Casey, formerly of the United States Air Force, stood outside General Beckman's office, waiting to be admitted. He was uncomfortable in a civilian outfit, even if it did have an American flag pin and a miniature Purple Heart on the lapel.

However, after dressing down General Petraeus five months earlier, Casey had decided it was no longer in his best interests to be in the United States military. And so, he had submitted his resignation – only to get a call from General Beckman three days before.

Finally, Beckman's door opened. "Please, come in, Major," she called from inside.

Casey stepped inside – and immediately found himself unsure of what to do. He was no longer in the military, and as such, was not necessarily bound by military protocol.

His thought process was interrupted, though. "John Casey!" rasped a familiar voice from Casey's right.

His head turned, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Roan fucking Montgomery?!" Casey gasped. "I heard you were in an alcoholic coma in Palm Springs!"

CIA legend Roan Montgomery shrugged and smiled. "The rumors of my demise are somewhat exaggerated," he shot back. "See, the CIA needed a new director, and President Bush wanted to go with somebody with a good record, somebody who Congress would have no trouble approving. Therefore, not only am I not retired, but I'm Director Roan fucking Montgomery to you!"

Casey shook his head, and then turned to General Beckman. "Okay, so I understand why the alkie's here, but what about me?"

Beckman raised an eyebrow. "Major, you're here because the National Security Agency could use somebody of your talents."

"What talents? I can fly a plane."

Beckman smiled. "Major, I've seen your service jacket. You can do far more than just fly a plane. You speak Russian, you're an expert sharpshooter… and your test scores are regularly off the charts."

Casey sighed. "General, I don't know if this is such a good idea."

"Major Casey," Montgomery interrupted, "I don't believe Dianne has been quite clear here. This is not a request."

Casey's eyes narrowed, and he turned to General Beckman. _Dianne?_ he mouthed to her. She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Major, it's a simple question. Are you in or out?" Beckman stared at Casey intently.

Casey smiled. "In."

* * *

Half an hour later, Casey was driving south with Roan Montgomery. "I need to make a stop in Rock Creek Park," Montgomery informed him. "Have an asset to meet with."

"Roger that," Casey replied. Five minutes later, Montgomery turned into the large urban park.

As they sat in the car, waiting for Montgomery's asset to appear, a car with government plates pulled into the parking lot. "What the hell?" Montgomery asked, sitting up straight. "Those are CIA plates!"

Casey looked across the parking lot at the car. "Hold on," he said quietly to Montgomery as the CIA director started to unbuckle his seatbelt. "Isn't that one of your field agents?"

"Yeah," Montgomery replied, recognition setting in. "That's Bryce Larkin."

"Uh-huh," Casey said, the name immediately setting off alarm bells in his head. Chuck Bartowski had told him more than once that Bryce Larkin couldn't be trusted.

Larkin disappeared into the park, but emerged ten minutes later, carrying a burlap sack. "Okay, this is just weird," Casey muttered.

"Yes it is," Montgomery concurred, turning his car on as Bryce began to pull away. "To hell with my asset, we need to see what's going on here."

Montgomery followed Bryce Larkin out of Rock Creek Park. Bryce drove for a long distance up 16th Street, into Silver Spring, before getting on the Beltway. He headed east for a while, exiting in Greenbelt and heading down Greenbelt Road.

Roan Montgomery pulled his car over about a quarter mile behind Bryce as the CIA agent slowed to a stop on the side of the road. "Where the hell are we?" Casey asked, confused.

"NASA facility," Montgomery replied, a grim look on his face.

"What?" Casey responded. "How much trouble could he possibly cause here?"

"More than you can imagine," Montgomery said quietly. "The Intersect is housed here."

"Oh," Casey breathed. "Shit."

* * *

Bryce was surprised at the lack of security around the Intersect facility. In fact, he didn't run into a guard until he was a hundred feet from the computer. Unfortunately, that guard was enough to set off an alarm.

"Shit," Bryce muttered. This was going to get exponentially more difficult.

He had to dispatch another three guards to cross the hundred feet to the Intersect. Finally, though, he reached the room where the computer was housed, and shut the door, locking himself in.

Crossing the room to the computer terminal, he opened the burlap sack. There were several pieces of plastic wrapped equipment inside, and a laminated list.

_Put on sunglasses._

Bryce pulled out the Oakleys from the bag and slipped them onto his face.

_Attach portable Sony computer to Intersect. Download database._

Bryce reached into the bag again and came out with a handheld miniature Vaio. Using the firewire cable that was plugged in, he hooked it up to the Intersect computer. Immediately, the Vaio came to life, and before Bryce could do anything, the room lit up with images, flashing rapidly as they were downloaded.

Bryce raised an eyebrow, but looked at the list again.

_Place fused C4 on Intersect unit. Set timer for thirty seconds and activate once download is finished._

Bryce retrieved the explosive from the bag and pressed it against the side of the computer. Using the keypad on the timer, he keyed it for thirty seconds and waited.

In under two minutes, the Intersect database finished downloading. Bryce snatched the computer and hit the button on the timer. Immediately, it started counting down.

Bryce crossed quickly to the door and waited. He had decided to let the overpressure of the explosion blow the door off its hinges, taking out anybody who might be waiting for him, and expelling him from the room.

He took a deep breath as the timer reached "1", closed his eyes, and plugged his ears. A split second later, there was a terrific shock wave as the explosion slammed into him and blew the door into the hallway.

Bryce lay stunned on the floor for a moment, and then rolled to his feet. He took off running – and then realized that he didn't remember how to get out.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered. He stopped for a moment, and breathed. _Look for an Exit sign, Larkin_, he instructed himself.

Whipping his head around, he saw it in the dim light – the unmistakable red glow of an exit sign. He took off running and rounded the corner –

Only to see two men with guns standing in front of the door. "THERE HE IS!" one of them yelled.

_SHIT!_ Bryce thought, throwing himself sideways. He crashed through a window and onto a roof. Rolling to his feet, he looked down. Only ten feet to the parking lot below –

He jumped –

"DAMMIT!" he hissed as he landed, rolling his ankle. "Shit!"

It was then that Bryce began to realize he might not get out of there alive. "But I've gotta get this thing out," he whispered to himself.

Then he had a revelation. "Chuck!" he said. "Of course! Chuck will know exactly what to do with this thing!"

Bryce took off running as quickly as he could with a lame ankle, programming the e-mail to Chuck Bartowski as he went. "Just need a code," he muttered. "How 'bout a little Zork, Chuck?"

He smiled as he rounded the corner, and was just about to press send –

_CRACK_

- when something slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground. There was a sharp stinging pain – and then there was no pain, no feeling at all.

"HEY!" he heard as he slumped to the ground. "DON'T MOVE!"

Bryce could feel his energy rapidly ebbing. Forcing his right hand to move, he reached out to the fallen computer and hit SEND.

"Too late," he whispered with a smile.

* * *

John Casey looked on in disappointment as Bryce Larkin's computer self-destructed in a puff of flame and smoke. Gun still at the ready, he cautiously approached the body.

Larkin's eyes stared sightlessly skyward. Still keeping his gun pointed at the fallen CIA agent, Casey bent over and checked Larkin's pulse.

Nothing. Bryce Larkin was dead.

* * *

"Come on, Chuck," Morgan said. "It was nice of Ellie to throw you a party."

Chuck shook his head. "You always think things that my sister does are 'nice'," he laughed. "We all know why, too."

"Yeah, whatever," Morgan shot back. "At least people remember your birthday. Heck, it looks like Bryce Larkin even remembered your birthday."

Chuck's eyes widened and his head whipped around. "Do what now?"

"Yeah," Morgan replied, pointing at Chuck's monitor and clicking on the e-mail. "Looks like he says… the terrible troll raises its sword?"

As realization dawned on Chuck, a slow smile spread across his face. "Heh," he laughed. "It's Zork – we made up our own text-based version in college."

"Riiight," Morgan deadpanned. "Well. As entertaining as that sounds… I do believe I hear leftovers calling my name. I'll be back in a minute."

Chuck crossed to the door as Morgan exited, closing it behind him. Turning back to the computer, he cracked his knuckles and bent over. "Well, Bryce Larkin, if it's Zork you want, it's Zork you shall have!"

Placing his fingers on the keyboard, Chuck typed in the response. _Attack troll with nasty knife_.

He hit the "Enter" key –

And the screen went dark.

"What the hell?" Chuck asked.

Then it lit up again. Images started flashing rapidly. "Oh, shit!" Chuck yelped, realizing immediately what was happening. He tried to reach out and hit the keyboard – tried to cover his eyes – tried to make the information download stop –

_To be continued…_


	26. Chuck vs His Destiny

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny – Aftermath**_

**CHAPTER 26 – "Chuck vs. His Destiny"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Capt. Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Dr. Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster  
Major John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Agent Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Director Roan Montgomery – John Larroquette  
Lester Patel – Vik Sahay  
Jeff Barnes – Scott Krinsky  
Anna Wu – Julia Ling  
Big Mike Tucker – Mark Christopher Lawrence

* * *

"CHUCK!"

Chuck groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make Morgan's voice go away.

"Chuck! Wake up!"

"Donwanna…"

"Chuck, it's seven o'clock, and you're asleep, on the floor, in the clothes you were wearing yesterday."

Oh, crap. That was Ellie's voice. Chuck wasn't allowed to ignore that.

"Okay, okay, gimme sec…"

Chuck allowed his eyes to crack open, letting just the tiniest bit of sunshine in. Morgan and Ellie were both staring down at him, concerned expressions on their faces. "Chuck?" Ellie asked.

"Wow," Chuck said, sitting up and shaking his head. "That was some party last night."

Morgan and Ellie gave each other a look. They both knew very well that Chuck hadn't had very much to drink the night before. "Well…" Ellie's voice trailed off, but she sounded unconvinced.

"I'm good," Chuck promised them, getting unsteadily to his feet. "Give me a few minutes to take a shower, and we'll be out the door."

Brushing past his best friend and his sister, Chuck made his way to the bathroom. Undressing, he turned the water on, waiting for it to heat up a little. As he stepped in, he turned on the shower radio.

Rise Against's "Prayer of the Refugee" was playing on KROQ. Chuck smiled. He had spent more than one night working on the StratoPig with that song blasting through the old B-52.

"DON'T HOLD ME UP, NOW, I CAN STAND MY OWN GROUND!" he sang – poorly – as the song echoed through the shower. "I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP, NOW, YOU WILL LET ME DOWN, DOWN, DOWN!"

Finally, the song ended – much to Ellie and Morgan's relief, though Chuck would never know that. As the song ended, the voice of Kevin Ryder came on the radio. "7:11 AM on KROQ, 106.7 FM," he said. "And now, here's Lisa May with traffic."

"Today's traffic updates are brought to you by H&M, in old town Pasadena, Topanga Plaza, and the Beverly Center," KROQ's traffic reporter said. "KROQ listeners are reporting unexplained slowing this morning on the 5 freeway northbound through Glendale…"

Chuck's vision went blurry, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He suddenly heard "Prayer of the Refugee" blaring in his head again. Unbidden, he saw a number of images flash before his eyes, including pictures of several different models of California Highway Patrol cruiser, a radar gun, and a map of I-5 through the San Fernando Valley. As an image of a Jack Russell terrier faded from sight, his vision returned to normal.

"Oh, crap," he whispered. Reaching out, he switched off the radio, and quickly finished showering. He dried off, wrapped a towel around himself, and made a beeline for his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Digging into the pocket of the slacks he had worn the day before, he retrieved his iPhone. Scrolling through the contact list, he found a number that had only a three letter label – MJC. Taking a deep breath, Chuck pressed "Call" and brought the phone up to his ear.

"_Casey._"

"Hey, it's Chuck Bartowski," Chuck said. "Bet you can't guess why I'm calling."

"_I'll give it a shot, Bartowski_," John Casey replied. "_Let's see… Bryce Larkin broke into the Intersect facility and destroyed the computer, but not before downloading the database and e-mailing it to you, whereupon you opened the e-mail and inadvertently downloaded the database into your noggin._"

"Damn," Chuck replied, impressed. "Clearly you did your homework."

"_Yeah, well, we were hoping that your birthday party last night would keep you preoccupied enough that you wouldn't check your e-mail before we got to you. Clearly it did not._"

"Uh, Casey, the party kinda sucked."

Chuck heard Casey laugh quietly. "_Well, sit tight, Bartowski. I'm actually about an hour away – I flew into Phoenix last night, and I'm driving to L.A. right now. We'll discuss this when I get there._"

"Sounds good," Chuck replied. Hanging up, he got dressed, then returned to the bathroom to do something with his hair – _starting to get a little long_, he thought. It was certainly beyond Air Force regulation length.

"Let's go!" he said to Morgan a few minutes later, brushing through the living room. "Later, Ellie!"

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Uh, okay," she replied. "Have a good day!"

Morgan followed Chuck out the door, whereupon Chuck tossed him the keys to the Herder he drove to and from work. "Why don't you drive today," Chuck suggested.

"Really?!" Morgan asked, his eyes widening. "Are you sure? I mean, I'm not sure I can handle –"

"Morgan." Chuck looked at Morgan patiently. "It's a company car. It's not a big deal."

He headed toward the shotgun door, and then, without thinking, added, "Oh, and take San Fernando up today… I'd rather stay off the 5; CHP's running a speed trap just off Los Feliz."

Morgan gave Chuck a weird look. "Uh, okay – thanks for the tip, Ponch."

* * *

Sarah was late arriving at Langley that day. The six year old Chevy Impala she had been driving for the past six months had blown its head gasket that morning, leaving her without a car or a way to get to work. A tow truck, a taxi, and three hours later, she finally arrived at CIA headquarters.

As she walked through the building, she found herself on the receiving end of a large number of curious looks. She was starting to grow uncomfortable when her Blackberry buzzed against her hip. She pulled it off –

_Director's Office. Now._

"Shit," Sarah swore under her breath. This couldn't possibly be good.

It wasn't until Sarah was in the elevator, halfway up to the administration floor, that it dawned on her – who the hell was in the Director's office? The post had been vacant since Arthur Graham had died seven months before.

With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, Sarah approached the door to the Director's office. "You may go right on in," she was told by the temp sitting at the desk outside his door.

Sarah slowly opened the door, revealing –

"Roan Montgomery?!" she said, a mixture of awe and reverence coloring her voice. She had heard tales of Montgomery over the years. His record was unmatched, and his libido supposedly went along with that. Nonetheless –

"I thought you had retired," Sarah said quietly. "Oh, I'm Sarah Walker, by the way."

"I know who you are, Agent Walker," Montgomery replied, sounding somewhat cranky. "And I WAS retired – until Director Graham decided to play Benedict Arnold. President Bush decided to pull me away from the beautiful women and Mai Tais of Palm Springs and stick me back here for a while. So it's Director Montgomery to you, at least for the time being."

"Well, I can assure you that the Agency appreciates your presence, sir," Sarah said.

"Unfortunately, Agent Walker, the Agency does not appreciate your presence," Montgomery replied.

Sarah was taken aback. "I'm sorry – what?!"

"Sit," he instructed, gesturing toward a chair.

In disbelief at what she had just heard, Sarah sat down. "Sir, my record speaks for itself," she said. "What do you mean by the Agency not appreciating my presence?"

"Walker, what I'm about to tell you is heavily classified," Montgomery answered. "Yesterday afternoon, your colleague, Agent Bryce Larkin, broke into the Intersect complex in Greenbelt. We were able to… neutralize him, but not before he stole the data, destroyed the computer, and transmitted the data."

"Holy… oh my God," Sarah breathed. Never in a million years had she believed that Larkin would do such a thing. "Why?"

Montgomery sighed heavily. "We did some digging and found out that he was working for… well, I'm sure you can guess."

Sarah closed her eyes. "Fulcrum."

"You betcha," Montgomery replied sourly. "And that's a problem for you, Agent Walker."

Her eyes reopened. "Why is it a problem for me?!"

"Well," Montgomery said slowly, "you were recruited by Arthur Graham, and you worked closely with both Marcus Wainwright and Bryce Larkin. The Congressional Committee for Oversight is gonna take one look at that and have you thrown in Guantanamo Bay."

"You cannot be serious," Sarah said, starting to get angry. "I've spent the last five and a half years on loan to the CIA, doing a damn good job, in my opinion, and this is the fucking thanks I get?!"

"It is less than ideal," Montgomery admitted. "However, I have a plan."

Sarah sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Let's hear it."

"Sarah Walker has to die."

Sarah's head snapped back downward, and her eyes riveted themselves on Montgomery's face. "I beg your pardon?!"

"Hear me out," Montgomery replied. "The night before last, a young woman similar in size and stature to you was involved in a DUI accident in West Virginia. Her body was severely burned, such that her corpse had to be identified by dental records. Fortuitously for us, she has no family and no friends to speak of here in the states – she was a Bulgarian immigrant."

Sarah couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're serious about this, aren't you?" she whispered.

Montgomery nodded. "We will plant evidence that the driver of that car was Sarah Walker," he said. "Those people here at Langley who saw you yesterday and today will be… persuaded… otherwise."

Sarah shook her head. "So, my time with the CIA is done."

"Uh…" Montgomery made a face. "I wouldn't go that far."

Sarah looked at him curiously. "But if Sarah Walker's dead…"

"Sarah Walker may be dead," Montgomery replied. "However… the CIA can still use CSIS Agent Karen Faust."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Really. How so?"

"You remember that I said that Bryce Larkin successfully transmitted the Intersect data to somebody?"

"Yes," Sarah said. "And how will Karen Faust be involved with that?"

The ghost of a smile appeared on Director Montgomery's face. "That somebody was United States Air Force Captain Charles Irving Bartowski."

* * *

It had been a long and boring day so far. The highlight of Chuck's day had been briefing Jeff, Lester, and Anna on the Irene DeMova virus. "Expect a lot of calls from lonely young men," he informed them. "If you look at this floor model of the Prism Express, you'll see that… a customer… managed to download the virus." He looked up, shooting a dirty look fifteen feet across the store at Morgan as he did so.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry!" Morgan called. "I just couldn't help myself… she just calls out to me!"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Please ignore dirty Uncle Morgan."

Since then, though, his day had been fairly lame. Right at the moment, he was trying to put together a conference call with Time-Warner, Linksys, and Galpin Ford to figure out what the hell was going on with the network at Galpin.

However, he had been on hold with Time-Warner for nearly fifteen minutes now. It was aggravating, but since he was getting paid fifteen dollars an hour, he wasn't complaining too much – although he had made twice that much in the Air Force.

Morgan wandered over to the desk. "Hey, you know the new guy?"

Chuck looked up to where Morgan was pointing. "Yeah, knew him from the Air Force," he replied. Chuck couldn't help but smile at the image of John Casey in a Buy More outfit. Casey had taken him to lunch at a little place Chuck never would've even considered setting foot in – the Wienerlicious on the edge of the parking lot.

Chuck's stomach was still rebelling. However, during lunch, Casey had explained to him that with the Intersect now parked in his head, his safety was the National Security Agency's top priority until such time as the Air Force decided to take him back or the NSA figured out how to get the Intersect out of Chuck's head, whichever came first.

The NSA had wangled Casey a job at the Buy More – "Oh, you LUCKY devil," Chuck had deadpanned – so that he could watch over Chuck. He was already impressing Big Mike, having sold one of the store's infamous BeastMaster grills in the three hours he had been on the job.

Chuck looked back down at the logbook for Galpin Ford. He couldn't understand why the biggest Ford dealer IN THE WORLD couldn't afford its own I.T. people, but he didn't claim to understand everything.

"Whoa," he heard Morgan breathe. "Stop the PRESSES! I think I KNOW that chick!"

Chuck laughed and rolled his eyes. Morgan thought he knew every girl who walked through the doors of the Buy More, but much to his small bearded friend's disappointment, he was rarely correct. He seemed to be insistent on this one, though. "Vicki Vale, Chuck!" he hissed. "Vicki Vale!"

_As if Kim Basinger would EVER walk through those doors_, Chuck thought to himself. With a small smile, he started repeating the words "Vicki Vale." "Vicki Vale," he said. "Vick-Va-Vicki Vale. Vick-a-Vick-a-Vick-a-Vickety-Vickety-Vickety-Vickety-Vale –"

That's when his world came to a screeching halt.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

* * *

The doors to the gigantic electronics store swished open. Sarah still couldn't wrap her mind around the idea of Chuck working there, but according to Director Montgomery, it was only a part time thing - just something Chuck was doing to pass the time until his medical leave was over.

As she walked through the portal into the icy blast of the air conditioning battling with the heat of the San Fernando Valley in September, she did what she always did when entering a public place - she cased it. She looked around, assessed her surroundings.

The first person she noticed was John Casey. She knew that he had gone to the NSA full time, and that he had also been assigned to keep an eye on Chuck, make sure those Fulcrum jackasses didn't turn up again to make life hell. She also knew that he had been in Washington yesterday when Bryce Larkin pulled his little stunt, but that was neither here nor there. She caught Casey's eye, and he simply nodded at her – though Sarah did see a small smile appear on his face.

The second person she noticed was Morgan Grimes. She had met him just once, on the flight line at Nellis Air Force Base, but she still remembered him. It was hard to forget the man who Chuck had often called his best friend. Even now, he was attempting to get Chuck's attention. He had clearly spotted Sarah and was trying to make sure Chuck realized that.

The third, and final, person that she spotted was Chuck. And God did he look good.

Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't seen him since Valentine's Day, but all of a sudden, she ached to rush to him, to throw her arms around him, to kiss him until she suffocated him. But she held back. She had waited this long to be with him, and she was sure as hell going to savor it.

Chuck didn't even look up as she approached the counter, despite Morgan's best efforts. Sarah looked him over - he had let his hair grow out a little, and it was starting to get curly. He was wearing glasses - his vision had apparently suffered as a result of the crash of the StratoPig. He was clean-shaven, just as she remembered him. And she REALLY liked the way he looked in a business suit. It was clearly tailored, a very nice cut, jet black, with a white dress shirt and black tie underneath. The only contrasting color was the miniature Purple Heart pinned to his lapel.

Even once she stood in front of him, he still didn't look up, simply mumbling something about a "Vicki Vale" to himself. Sarah smiled and laid her phone down on the counter. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Chuck froze, and then his head snapped up. The notebook he was holding crashed to the floor, the phone handset falling from between his shoulder and his ear. He looked at her as if he were looking at a dead person. "It's... it's from Batman," he finally said.

Sarah smiled. "Well, because that makes it better."

Chuck's expression didn't change, a look of shock seemingly permanently glued to his face. "Uh..." he breathed. "Uh, what can I do for you?"

"Well..." Sarah replied. "I think my phone is broken. You see, I've been in Los Angeles for four hours, and it has yet to ring."

"It's the Intellicell," Chuck replied, his voice still sounding stunned. "You see, there's this screw, and sometimes the battery - oh, to hell with this!"

Chuck dropped Sarah's phone on the counter. Moving to his right, he shoved open the door into the Nerd Herd counter. Quickly rounding the front of the counter, he gathered Sarah into his arms, and before she could protest, kissed her with all the pent-up energy and passion of a man who hasn't seen the woman he loves in seven months.

Sarah completely forgot that she was in a public place. Grabbing the hair on the back of Chuck's head, she pulled him against her as hard as she could. She felt his tongue on her lips, and moaned, her lips parting –

"BARTOWSKI!"

She felt his body freeze, and then felt him slowly, reluctantly, pull away from her. She opened her eyes, and followed Chuck's gaze to where a large black man stood, about twenty feet away. "Would you for God's sake get a room?!"

"Sorry, Big Mike," Chuck mumbled. "Uh, can I leave early?"

To Sarah's surprise, Big Mike smiled. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't, boy!"

Chuck's face broke into a full-on grin, and he dashed from the store, pulling Sarah along behind him. John Casey was practically rolling on the floor in laughter as they ran past.

They made it to Sarah's rented Prius before Sarah gave in to the urge to attack Chuck again. She pushed him into the backseat, and crawled in on top of him.

However, before she could get too far, Chuck stopped her. "Okay, yes, I'm happy to see you too," he said, breathless. "But why are you here? How did you get them to let you come?"

Sarah's face fell. This was the part she didn't want to talk about. "Well… yesterday, there was a bit of a security breach –"

"And Bryce Larkin, who is now dead, e-mailed me the Intersect database," Chuck replied. "Yes, I'm aware of all that. But what about you? How did you get the CIA to actually let you see me?"

Sarah grimaced. "I'm not a CIA agent anymore, Chuck," she replied. "Sarah Walker's not even my real name. I'm an agent of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. My name's Karen Faust. Sarah Walker was just a cover."

The smile faded from Chuck's face. "Oh," he said quietly. "So… you mean I really didn't even know you?"

"That's not it at all," Sarah replied, a note of desperation in her voice. "You knew me. The only thing I never let you know was my real name, and that was because I couldn't. I'm in love with you, Chuck Bartowski. I have been for the longest time."

Chuck slowly started to smile again. "Well," he said quietly. "In that case… _ya bezumno lyubyalyu vas_."

Sarah's eyes widened, and she couldn't breathe for a moment. "You remembered," she finally whispered.

Chuck nodded. "Sarah, your face was the last thing I saw for two months," he said quietly. "Of course I remembered."

She nodded, and took a deep breath. "So," she said. "What does this mean for us?"

Chuck's smile turned into a full-blown grin. "It means that we're seven and a half months over due for a Valentine's Day date."

* * *

Nearly nine hours later, Chuck and Sarah lay in the bed in Sarah's hotel room, covered in nothing but a tangle of sheets. Their clothes were strewn about the room, and they had even managed to knock a lamp over in their haste.

Chuck had had a smile permanently plastered on his face for the last nine hours. Now, as he was starting to drift off to sleep, he took a moment to look at the beautiful woman curled up against him.

She was everything he had imagined since the day he met her – everything he had imagined, and then some. "How did I get so lucky?" he whispered, leaning his head down to kiss the back of Sarah's neck.

"Mmmm," she sighed, turning over to face Chuck. Her eyes cracked open and she smiled at him sleepily. "Love you."

Chuck smiled back at her. "I love you too, Sarah." As he leaned his head down to kiss her, she threw her arms around his neck and embraced him tightly.

As they lay there, holding each other, Chuck thought to himself, _I could happily do this for the rest of my life_. And then, before his brain could catch up with him, he said, "Hey, Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

"Marry me?"

Chuck couldn't see Sarah's face, but the smile that appeared on it could've lit up all of Los Angeles. She slowly nodded. "Mm-hmm."

* * *

_Epilogue to follow_


	27. EPILOGUE When I Come Around

_**Chuck vs. His Destiny**_

**EPILOGUE – "When I Come Around"**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Sarah Walker/Karen Faust – Yvonne Strahovski  
Rachel Faust Mercer – Reese Witherspoon  
Jeremiah Faust – David Anders  
Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb – Sarah Lancaster  
Carina Hansen – Mini Anden  
Kenneth Faust – Pierce Brosnan  
General D. Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy  
Director Roan Montgomery – John Larroquette  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Devin Woodcomb – Ryan McPartlin  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Mystery Man – Jason Dohring

* * *

**March 2009**

"Karen, STOP FIDGETING!"

Sarah Walker bit her lip and swallowed a feral growl. "I'm SORRY," she spat. "It's just a little uncomfortable to be crouched down like this!"

"Whatever," her sister Rachel grumped. "You know, it's not my fault you and Jerry turned out to be freakishly tall."

"Oh, is THAT how it is," Sarah shot back. "I'm pretty sure that if two out of three siblings have similar builds, it's generally the third that's the circus freak."

Rachel Faust Mercer stopped adjusting Sarah's hair and stepped in front of her, looking into her sister's eyes. "Well, Karen, if that's the way you want to play it, I'm sure you can walk down the aisle with half your hair still in curlers."

Sarah's jaw dropped. "You WOULDN'T."

Rachel smiled evilly. "This is what happens when the baby messes with the firstborn."

Sarah stuck out her tongue at her sister, seven years her senior. "Isn't the baby supposed to get whatever she wants, you twerp?"

"The BABY is twenty-eight years old, chucklebutt!" Rachel replied with a laugh.

Sarah grinned. "Which makes YOU how old again?"

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Shut up."

There was a knock at the door, and then it popped open. Their brother Jeremiah – born almost exactly halfway between the two – looked in. "Are you two having fun in here?"

Rachel and Sarah both looked at their brother and simultaneously stuck out their tongues. Jeremiah rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I think they're just about done!" he called out into the foyer.

With that, Ellie Woodcomb came barging into the room, Carina Hansen closely on her tail. "They're getting anxious out there, Sarah," Ellie warned her.

"Oh, PLEASE," Sarah groaned. "We're running, what? Two minutes late?"

Ellie smiled. "Yeah, but you know my brother. Punctuality is key with him."

"There's a habit I'll have to break him of," Sarah muttered beneath her breath, prompting a smile from her older sister. Rachel slowly pulled the last curler from Sarah's hair, letting it spring back.

"You look good, Walker," Carina said.

Sarah shook her head. "I ask you to be a bridesmaid and still you call me by my last name?"

"Good Lord," Carina replied with a wince. "You sound like my mother."

"Can we go now?" Jeremiah asked impatiently.

Sarah shook her head and laughed. "Isn't this supposed to be the day when the universe revolves around the bride?"

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Sarah, my dear, were you not present for my wedding?"

"Fair enough," Sarah admitted, remembering the micro-planning that Devin Woodcomb had exacted on Ellie eight months before. "Still, though…"

Ellie smiled. "Sarah, you're going to be the center of my brother's universe for the rest of his life. I think you'll be okay."

"Yeah," Sarah replied, biting her lip and trying to keep her smile from getting too big. "Yeah, I think I will be."

She stood and was subjected to one last check by Rachel, Ellie, and Carina, prompting a groan from Jeremiah. "Shut UP, Jerry!" Rachel snapped at him.

Ellie shook her head and handed Sarah her bouquet. "When it comes time to throw this, just remember – you've only got one unmarried bridesmaid," Ellie said, inclining her head toward Carina.

"Oh, God, no," Carina protested. "I'd rather spend the rest of my life working for the GSA."

"ALRIGHT," Jeremiah Faust interrupted. "That's ENOUGH. Let's go get you married, Karen!"

Grabbing his baby sister by the hand, Jeremiah practically dragged her out into the foyer of the church. He was himself a little nervous – he was set to give his sister away.

Sarah moved quickly to keep up with her brother as they headed toward the entrance to the sanctuary of Mt. Olivet Lutheran Church of Vancouver – but she stopped dead in her tracks when she looked toward the doors to the outside.

"Oh my God," she whispered, prompting Jeremiah to follow her gaze.

"Jesus Christ," he uttered. "DAD?!"

"Hi, kids," Kenneth Faust said, crossing the foyer. "Didn't think I'd miss my baby girl getting married, did you?"

Ellie Woodcomb came up behind Sarah. "Sarah, who is that?"

Kenneth looked from Sarah to Ellie and back again. "Karen, why is this woman calling you Sarah?"

"Well, Dad, maybe if you'd been around, you'd know the answer to that," Jeremiah answered sarcastically before Sarah could answer.

"Yeah, DAD… couldn't even be at Mom's funeral," Rachel added bitterly. "You have no IDEA what's gone on the last few years."

"Hey, guys," Sarah said, but her siblings ignored her.

"Who do you think you are, just showing up here?" Jeremiah asked angrily. "All those years you spent beating up on Mom, treating us like shit, then you disappeared, and now you think you can just DROP IN?"

"You didn't come to MY wedding, Dad," Rachel snapped. "Why now?"

Kenneth Faust's face fell. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to disappoint you or hurt you. I'm not the man now that I was twenty years ago."

Before either of her siblings could say another word, Sarah stepped toward her father. "I believe you, Dad," she said quietly. "But how did you get out?"

What neither of Sarah's siblings knew was that Kenneth Faust had spent the last ten years in a prison in California, arrested on fraud charges. Sarah knew only because of her government connections. "Well, my dear, it would seem your fiancée has friends in high places," Kenneth replied.

Sarah cocked her head, giving her father a curious look, and then looked over his shoulder to see General Beckman and Director Montgomery standing in the doorway of the church. "Ah, I see," she said. "Well, Dad, then you should know that the reason this woman – who, by the way, is Ellie Woodcomb, one of my bridesmaids and the sister of my fiancée – called me Sarah is because that's who she and her brother know me as. It was a cover for a government job, which is all I can say. They know who I really am now – but that's not who they know ME as."

Kenneth Faust raised an eyebrow. "How thoroughly confusing," he replied, his New Zealand accent coloring his speech. "But nevertheless… I believe there's a wedding to attend to."

Sarah smiled. "I think you're correct."

As they approached the open doors into the sanctuary, Sarah felt her heart rate increase. Never before – not when she was in Tehran, not working with Project Omaha, not going on Intersect-related missions with Chuck, not even when the StratoPig crashed – never had she felt quite like she did now.

Carina disappeared through the doors, and Sarah realized, _This is real. This is actually happening_. And that particular realization was almost enough to put a permanent smile on her face.

Ellie was next through the doors, followed by Rachel and Jeremiah. Sarah linked arms with her father and squeezed his hand. "I forgive you, Daddy," she said softly. She looked over at her father.

He looked back at her, tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry I was such a failure," he replied quietly. "But I love you, Karen."

"You're not a failure, Daddy," Sarah answered, doing her best to keep her own eyes from filling with tears. "You're my father, and I love you."

Kenneth Faust smiled at his daughter, and then looked forward, his head perking up with a little bit of pride. The organist began playing Bach's _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring_, and that was their cue.

They rounded the corner and started down the aisle, the wedding parties coming into Sarah's view for the first time. On the floor, in front of the altar, was Carina Hansen, clad in the same light blue gown as the other two women. Opposite her, also on the floor, was John Casey, wearing his Class A Air Force uniform, adorned with all his medals and decorations.

On the first step up was Ellie Woodcomb, her dress slightly modified to accommodate the growing bump in her midsection. She was four months along, and had made it quite clear that she expected Sarah to waste no time in joining her.

Sarah wasn't sure she was QUITE ready to be a mother yet.

Opposite Ellie was the man responsible for her condition, Devin Woodcomb. He too was in his Class A uniform, though he didn't have nearly as many medals as Casey.

Rachel stood on the second step up. Sarah had always thought her sister was beautiful, and today was no exception. It never failed to amaze Sarah that at 35, her sister still looked like she was 20. Standing opposite Rachel was, conveniently, the only member of the men's party to be close to Rachel in height – Morgan Grimes. He was wearing a tuxedo, and was actually clean-shaven, which was something Sarah was quite certain she had never seen before.

But even as Sarah's spy's mind processed all that information, she had eyes for only one person.

Standing on the top step of the chancel, no one standing opposite him – yet – wearing his Air Force dress blue uniform, the gold oak leaves signifying Major's rank still new and shiny, was Chuck Bartowski. Sarah knew that there were plenty in the crowd who would notice the Purple Heart or the Bronze Star on Chuck's chest, but she noticed only one thing.

His deep brown eyes, staring directly at her, full of excitement, love, hope, joy, and a look that Sarah could only compare to a three year-old on Christmas morning. Sarah stared right back, matching Chuck smile for smile.

The wedding service itself seemed like a blur, although there were parts that would stand out in Sarah's mind, such as when Chuck mentioned during his vows that he still owed Sarah a ride in an F-16. That drew a chuckle from John Casey, although the majority of the audience had no idea what Chuck was talking about.

The moment that Sarah would remember most, though, was when the pastor had said, "It is my pleasure to introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bartowski!" As a matter of fact, Sarah was still thinking about it during the reception when Chuck walked up to her.

"Take a look at this," he said, placing a card in front of her. Sarah picked up the card, raising an eyebrow as she took in the embossed seal of the President of the United States on the front.

"Wow," she said quietly, opening the card. The inside said, "_Congratulations Major Bartowski, Agent Walker. Enjoy your honeymoon – it's gonna be right back to work afterwards. I'm interested in resurrecting Omaha and the StratoPig. – B.O._"

"Not too many people get a personal congratulations from the President," Chuck noted quietly.

"That one's going in the scrapbook," Sarah agreed. "But I think we've got other things to take care of first."

Chuck smiled. "We're stuck here for a while yet."

Sarah nodded and smiled. "That's okay," she said. "I waited for several years to finally get you – I think I can wait a couple more hours to celebrate being Mrs. Bartowski."

Chuck smiled. "You'd have to be a sadist to want to call yourself that."

Sarah's smile turned into a full-blown grin. "Nah," she replied. "Carnival freaks found me in a dumpster and raised me as one of their own."

Chuck laughed as he remembered saying something similar to Sarah on their first "date", nearly six years before. "Touché, Agent Walker, touché."

* * *

From across the room, the man watched Chuck and Sarah talk to each other at the main table. It was evident that they were in love.

It had been a struggle for the man to make it to this point. Emergency surgery, months in a hospital, more months of rehabilitation, plastic surgery to disguise his appearance – even the installation of a computer chip to change the modulation of his voice. Dropping completely off the face of the planet had been his only choice.

Coming here had been a risk. However, it was something he had HAD to do – just to prove to himself that Chuck had turned out alright.

And as he walked out the door into the cool Vancouver evening, the man formerly known as Bryce Larkin smiled as he realized that Chuck Bartowski had done exactly that.

* * *

_**THE END**_


End file.
